Goodness Spent
by MLoreley85
Summary: Evil wins when Good remains indifferent in the face of injustice. Anders knows his fight against the status quo in Kirkwall is a continuous and losing battle, even with the apostate Evelyn Amell at his side. When the Champion of Kirkwall, Lysandra Hawke, can't do enough to change the hearts of the people, what can a couple of Darktown Healers do?
1. Chapter 1: Fish Out Of Water

Goodness Spent_  
__Chapter One: Fish Out Of Water_

_"By the Maker, what is he?"_ _The young templar was unable to disguise the horror choking him as he stared at..._

_ What __**was**__ he? __**Who**__ was he? The answer was buried in a miasma of memories swirling in and out of each other, some that knew parents, some that knew the Fade. He had to get control of himself, even as agony ripped him in twain. _

_ "He's an abomination, that's what he is!" The other templar, the smug-faced bastard who'd always regarded him in contempt, the one behind his torment, spat out hatefully. _

_ "No," he started to plead- he wasn't an abomination... __**was he**__? No, he was a mage. He was a spirit? He stared down at his hands- solid. He had to be human, a mage. But he wasn't just human anymore, now that he looked; some sort of light cracked through his flesh, all the more vivid in the dark of the night._

_ "Kill it, quick, before he has a chance to summon more demons!"_

_ The order stirred the blood in his veins, new power lent to the anger that surged at __**once again**__ being condemned before he could even speak, and he glared at the templars before him, the ones with tainted blood (like his), and all was white rage._

"Stay away," he whimpered his warning to the dark of his closed eyes. "Why didn't you stay away?"

_Blood trickled from his mouth as he fled to the forest. He had to get away, away from the keep, away from the wardens, away from the bodies-_he nearly doubled over, his fists clenching the guard rail reflexively._ The blood wasn't his; he couldn't remember how it had gotten between his teeth. They would find what he left behind soon, they would know it was him._

_ But who __**was**__ he?_

"You're looking a little green around the gills there, Ser."

His head bolted upright, having sagged the deeper into his memories he'd probed. Bright noonday sun overhead, scattered clouds lazily working their way towards the horizon, shining blue-green sea expanding in every direction. Beneath his feet, the ship swayed in the occasional chop of waves. Taking in a deep breath to settle his suddenly racing heart, the salty air filled his lungs. He remembered where he was. He straightened more fully, this time smoothing back the blond wisps escaping his tie, which stuck more firmly in place with the smeared sweat- had he been sweating that much? _Maker's Breath_.

"If I had gills, there wouldn't be a problem, now would there?" He tried grinning, though his voice cracked just enough to give him away. "I could just swim the rest of the way."

He looked to the one who'd joined him, and whatever grin he had faded. Though she wore a hood, it was resting comfortably behind her ears, leaving the crisp curls of her raven hair to catch the sunlight. Long, black lashes framed her strikingly blue eyes, which glittered with amusement as they watched him. She bore him a soft smile, guarded but friendly, and her hands were crossed at the wrist as they rested on the railing.

"Ah, but if you were a fish, would you still go to Kirkwall?" the woman asked, her eyes flashing with cunning.

"No," he replied in reflection. "I suppose I wouldn't. There's a vast ocean out there I could lose myself in instead. Sadly, I am not a fish."

"Are you sure?" The woman lightly nudged him with her elbow, grinning. "You look a little like a fish out of water."

His head tilted to one side as he regarded her in mock exasperation. "Really? You're going to make _that_ joke?"

She giggled."Got you to smile, didn't it?"

Huh. So it had. At least, one corner of his mouth had twisted up in more good humor than he'd felt in... _forever_, it seemed. Still, he rolled his eyes- she wouldn't win the battle with his foul mood with one bad joke.

After a beat, she leaned closer, her smile growing more engaging. "So, if you're not a fish, then may I ask who you are? I'd like to call you by _something_ while we're chatting, at least."

"I don't recall asking you to chat with me."

She pouted. "There's no need to be so sullen. Is it really so much trouble to ask you for your name?" Straightening in feigned indignation, she placed her gloved hand over her heart. "But fine, I'll go first. My name is Evelyn. And you are?"

"That's a lovely name," he replied, biting back a chuckle. "But I'm not so sure I want you knowing mine."

"Ooh, look who's trying to be all _mysterious_!" She laughed, much to his chagrin. "I'd say I had more reason to hide my name than you do, but then..." The mirth softened from her features as she took another step nearer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Perhaps we have more in common than you think."

The nearness, the warmth radiating from her pale skin, nearly distracted him from her meaning. He lowered his voice in answer, "You mean, you...?"

"I came over to see if you weren't feeling a little seasick, and if there wasn't something I could do about that," she giggled. "Surreptitiously, of course, a nudge away from nausea. But whatever's bothering you, it's not something physical, is it?"

"No," he agreed, standing to his full height now. Much to his shock, he realized that he stood nearly a full foot taller than the young woman. "Magic wouldn't really do me much good right now, or I'd be trying to remedy the situation myself."

At his implied admission, she smiled. "So I figured that maybe the best way to treat what was ailing you was some company. You seem quite a bit livelier now than you did a moment ago, after all."

"How could you tell...?" He gestured to himself questioningly. "The robes weren't that clear of a giveaway, were they?"

"Well, they're not typical for your average Mage On The Go," she smirked, "But you've definitely got some distinctly Tevinter elements in your getup right now that sort of stand out. Even so, no, that's not entirely it."

She paused, and as doubt filled her features, her eyes deepened in hue. "No, there's something about your... aura... it's something magical, but something more. But I'm not able to refine my sense on it any further than that." She shrugged. "It's like you're carrying a piece of the Fade with you."

His eyebrows darted up in alarm, and he fought to keep his expression as neutral as possible. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, hoping that if she didn't believe him, she would at least respect that boundary.

Her mouth twisted in disappointment, and she folded her arms thoughtfully. "I see. Either way, you do realize you're not doing yourself any favors by going to Kirkwall?" That smirk was back. "I think only the White Spire in Orlais is more constrictively pro-templar than _that_ city."

"That's actually _why_ I'm headed out that way," he replied tentatively, unsure how much to share with this young woman. He got the distinct impression that it would be difficult to mislead her, particularly with the intelligence shining behind those eyes. "What about you?"

Sighing the weight from her lungs, she gazed off into the distance, perhaps visualizing her goal. After a long pause, she smiled bitterly. "I'm looking for family."

"Family?" He scowled. "Would they take you in?"

"I..." Her head dipped, letting a few curls fall across her line of vision. "I don't know if they're even still _alive_. The last I saw of them was my mother, crying as they..." She took a deep breath. "That was nearly twelve years ago now. Contact was impossible."

He nodded. The story was a common one. Children ripped away from parents in the dead of night, mothers crying as they tucked a pillow into their son's arms... He blinked rapidly, refusing to let the sudden sting in his eyes form tears. "But it's something," he added at last.

"Yes."

"More than most of us have, anyway," he continued, following her gaze out to the sea.

She turned her attention back on him."So, what is it _you_ are looking for?"

"Perhaps the closest thing I have to family right now," he sighed. "A friend. We were in contact regularly even while he was in the Kirkwall Circle, and his letters were getting more urgent as time went by... until they stopped coming at all."

"Ooh," she cringed. "That doesn't sound good. Okay, so, what's the plan?"

"Plan? I don't really have one yet." He frowned. "And you're not involved in this."

"I am now," she insisted, grinning. "As you say, if this is the closest thing you've got to family, it's important you find him. And, you know, folks like you and me, we don't tend to have a lot of allies to count on in this world." Her grin expanded to a full on, blinding beam. "You _need_ me to help with this!"

He tried to maintain his scowl, but his furrowed brow and thinned lips softened the longer she smiled at him. "No. I will not allow you to be dragged into this mess. It's dangerous enough for _one_ mage-"

"You're absolutely right; it's too dangerous to tangle with the templars alone. Honestly speaking? I'm terrified of looking for my family. Even if they're still alive, I don't know that they won't just call for the templars again. I stand a very good chance of them having me arrested on sight." She shivered at the thought. "So I admit, I'm willing to put off my search once I arrive for a little bit. Long enough to figure out the situation first. And if I have something to do, I won't feel useless."

She wrapped her arms around herself in a disconsolate embrace, then looked back up to him. "Maybe part of me is hoping that if I help you and your friend, you'll help me out with my petty problems, too."

The display of vulnerability caught him offguard. There was no artifice in her words, and she spoke openly about her fears- the goosebumps on her flesh could not be faked. _Of course_, the dark inner recesses of his mind warned, _one can always deceive by using the truth_. He brushed the paranoia aside, however; there was something about this young woman, something he couldn't put his finger on, that felt like an old friend.

"I get the feeling," he opened casually, his smirk returning, "that even if I tell you 'no' again, I'll just find you tagging along, regardless."

"That's a pretty safe assumption, yes," she giggled.

"So even if I warn you that this is dangerous, life-threatening, that the chances are good you may end up with a brand on your forehead...?"

She peered up at him through her eyelashes. "You would still have my help getting that far."

His fingers darted up to the loose wisps of blond that obscured his vision, tucking them behind his ear. "You know, apostates are usually far more self-serving. I think it would be better for your well-being if you weren't so invested in the business of people in trouble."

Her mouth twisted in discomfort. "I've been on the run for six, maybe seven years now. I've done a lot of 'looking out for my best interests'. But in that time, I've seen how badly maligned our people are. How could I keep running from my problems when there are other mages far less fortunate than I am? Far better that we watch out for one another than let the Chantry hunt us down one by one." Her eyes grew shadowed by the dark wings of bitterness. "Injustice prevails when good people do nothing."

Before he was even consciously aware of it, his hand had moved to cover one of hers, resting on the guard rail. Had he moved it? Had the other presence in his mind reacted to the talk of justice, of the same argument _He'd_ once made to him? The lines were still so blurred in his mind.

"I've wondered if I'd ever hear someone else say so," he murmured warmly, smiling.

She returned his smile, this time with the rosiness in her complexion deepening. "I'm glad to hear you agree, uh..." Her eyes blanked as she tried to recall if he'd ever said his name.

He chuckled, and lifted the hand that had been on hers to offer it by way of introduction. "You may call me Anders."

She grinned. "Ah, so the fishie _does_ have a name!" As another thought dawned on her, she tilted her head slightly. "You know, now that I look at you, you kinda _look_ like you've got some Ander blood in you."

He snorted. "My family is from the Anderfels, yes. Let's not go down that road, though."

"I have no intention of going to the Anderfels, darling," she drawled sarcastically. "No offense, but if I wanted Blight-infected lands and cold weather, I'd stay in Ferelden."

He laughed, a hearty laugh that he hadn't heard from himself in... _years_. "That's not what I meant, and _you know it_, you little minx."

"Ooo, _minx_, is it?" She grinned. "So, not only are you already starting with the name-calling, but the flirting, too?"

With years of practice having honed into an instinct, a charming grin curled into place and a retort spiced with interest danced on his tongue. Before a word of it could leave his mouth, however, a heavy weight sank from his chest into his stomach, and the smile vanished. "...No. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

Her lips protruded in protest of him breaking the mood- having been intrigued enough to at least enjoy some playful banter. "And what if I wanted you to mean it that way?"

"Then I would have to disappoint you, my dear lady," he grunted, frustrated with himself, and wondering if perhaps the _other guy_ was leaking into the foreground a bit too much here... ruining his fun. "But I would hate to lead you down that path. The one you've already committed yourself to skipping down with me is dangerous enough."

"_Dangerous_, hmm?" In a playful imitation of passion, she bit her lower lip. "You do realize that _danger_ is not always a deterrent for women?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially women that already live on the precipice of danger?"

He cringed. "No," he repeated. "Let's just say you'd sooner plan your vacation in the Anderfels than look for..._that_... with me."

Evelyn sighed. She knew a losing argument with low self-esteem when she heard it. Seeing his face darken with angst, however, she laid her hand on his arm, smiling reassuringly up at him. "Hey, no problem. I was just teasing you a little; I meant no harm. If banter isn't your thing, we'll keep it light and friendly, okay?"

_But it __**is**__ my thing, and that's exactly the problem!_ He was torn between wanting to recoil from her welcome touch, and cupping his opposite hand over hers again. "That's probably wise, all things considered. And thank you."

"Thank me when we've arrived in Kirkwall and eluded the templars after docking," she prodded teasingly. "I mean, I'm small enough that I can get lost in the crowd. Plus, I'm not exactly wearing clothes that scream, 'Hey templars, come smite me!', unlike _someone_ in our midst."

"That's true," he agreed, examining her outfit more closely. While she wore a hood, it was nondescript and dark brown, with a cape that brushed over her narrow shoulders. A simple light blue blouse peeked out from under a leather underbust corset, with a darker blue pair of woolen leggings tucked into calf-high leather boots. A violet scarf was tied around her waist, accenting the blues of her outfit and giving the illusion of wider hips than the petite woman actually bore.

"So we'll have to find a way to smuggle you in without you grabbing the attention of every guardsman and templar within a fifty mile radius," she snickered.

"And a hooded cloak would only manage to make me look even more shady and suspicious," he nodded, chuckling despite his dissipating foul mood. "I didn't exactly have time to prepare an outfit for travel. Which is, sadly, going to work against me."

"We'll manage," she insisted. "We've got some time to plan, anyway. A couple more days. Besides, I've already got some ideas. We could always..."

As she listed off the various plans of escape and subterfuge, from hiding in a crate to her throwing a classic 'Orlesian Tantrum' to give him cover, Anders allowed his thoughts to drift back to another, far more pertinent struggle for him. How was he ever going to execute his plan to save Karl, his friend, from the templars, when he couldn't even figure out who he was? Everything had happened so fast, he couldn't even fully remember booking his passage on the boat- did he call on a contact, or pay for it himself? He hadn't run into any opposition; or, if he had, he didn't recall it- a thought that chilled his blood. Escaping from Amaranthine had gone far more smoothly than he could have anticipated. He must have moved just a bit faster than the news of what had happened... what he'd _done_.

He glanced back to Evelyn, who was now rambling about this one time she'd escaped a templar by pretending to be a bird. He might have to tell her eventually why he was _really_ on this boat, what drove him from the first home he'd known since before the Circle. She'd already figured out some of it- how close she'd come to the truth genuinely spooked him. She was astute, and it wouldn't be long before she'd know for sure.

He _would_ have to tell her, he resolved. Far better that she hear it from him than figure out that he'd kept the truth from her. But watching her now, the light in her eyes and the flush of vivacity in her cheeks, he dreaded her ever knowing. She wouldn't smile like that with him, a smile he was already fond of.

Her fingertips grazed the back of his hand, an accident of enthusiastic social conduct, but one that sent heat bolting up his arm and through the rest of him. He smiled; he was definitely still human.


	2. Chapter 2: We Need A Plan

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Two: We Need A Plan_

The inhabitants of Lowtown, a sector of Kirkwall that was often ignored by the much wealthier and insulated residents of Hightown, were accustomed to the sight of activity in their busy streets. Whether it was the merchants calling out to any within earshot, demonstrating their wares for would-be customers that get drawn near, or workers doing what little they could to salvage the buildings that deteriorated without the patchwork care they received, or even those moving crates in and out of the warehouses, there was always something going on.

Even the less savory elements of Lowtown- of which there were many- rarely raised more than an eyebrow at the commotion they stirred: violence was a regular sight in a place where money was scarce, and the presence of the Hanged Man often lead to drunken fistfights and altercations. The citizens of Lowtown rarely felt compelled to get involved when conflict arose; it was commonplace and expected in the decrepit slums.

Which was why when two figures, one whose elaborate robes peeked through the shoddy cloak he'd acquired, and the other slight in frame, darted through the streets while pursued by three men in heavy armor, the citizens paid them no mind. Sure, the occasional woman steered her child into her house hearing the shouts from the men, and some smirked at the spectacle, but neither templar nor apostate would be interrupted in their 'game'.

Evelyn pointed to an alleyway wordlessly, then made a sharp turn towards it. Having been looking over his shoulder to watch for the templars, Anders missed the signal, and she had to grab his elbow to keep him with her as she slipped between the crowd of spectators standing in front of her goal.

"Oi, watch it!"

"My foot!"

Ignoring their protests, the woman yanked her companion ahead of her, and the second they were out of sight, she pressed the both of them against the wall. Their chests heaved with exertion, and Evelyn even doubled forward in trying to catch her breath. They listened as the templars rounded the corner into the clearing before the alleyway.

"You there!" One of the templars gestured to a merchant standing at his table. "Did you see two apostates come running through here?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Ser," the merchant replied with a shake of his head. "I was polishing this 'ere armor 'til you spoke up."

"Blast!" A second templar spat in anger, then looked to the small crowd. "What about you? One was a man wearing robes, the other a small woman, possibly an elf?"

"Heh heh, if I saw any pretty little elves, there'd be no way I'd let them slip away!" One of the men winked lasciviously.

"Pig!" One of the women elbowed the man in the ribs, scowling. This brought a burst of laughter from the others.

"I saw 'em, Sers!" An elf, one who'd been talking with his friend a short ways off, stalked closer. "Came running right through here not a moment ago!"

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat, and Anders felt his heart stop.

"Which way did they go?" The third templar demanded, striding forward impatiently.

The elf frowned, and pointed down the street towards the docks. "That way, Sers! Better hurry, too; I think I heard them say they're catching a boat!"

"Damn!" The first templar cursed. "Alright, come on, boys, double time! We can't let them escape again!"

As they listened to the sound of the metal boots and armor clank receding towards the docks, Evelyn and Anders let out a mutual sigh of relief. Evelyn even began laughing softly, brushing her hand through her curls to sweep them from her face.

"That didn't quite go as planned, did it?" She asked of her friend, grinning nervously.

"I'm pretty sure I told you that a cloak wasn't going to do much to disguise me," he accused. "I don't know why I listened to you."

"Because I'm damn cute, that's why!" She let out another giggle, then coughed, still struggling to regain control of her breathing.

Anders smiled at her attempts to inject humor into their situation. Despite her apparent confidence, she was shivering from the fear still rippling through her. "That's probably it, yes."

She finally stood straight, and met his gaze with a reply on her lips. Seeing the warmth in his expression, however, her words escaped her, and she resorted to smiling pleasantly in response. Just as a comfortable quiet fell over them, the elf that had spoken up in their defense before peeked back around to them.

"The way is clear now," he said, stepping more fully into the alleyway. "They're going to be searching the docks for a while; there are at least five fishing boats departing this time of day."

"Thank you, so much," Evelyn beamed to the elf, coming to him to take his hands in gratitude. "You have undoubtedly saved our lives. We owe you for your kindness."

The elf straightened in shock. "You... you're _not_ an elf!" He gaped openly. "I-I'm sorry, you were so small, I'd assumed you were..."He shook his head and freed his hands from her grasp. "I'm glad you're safe. But not everyone in Lowtown will be eager to look out for strangers, especially apostates. I suggest you find a way out of Kirkwall soon."

"Thank you," Evelyn repeated, her cheer dissipating at the elf's growing coldness, "But we have business here."

"Then don't stay long," he warned harshly. "Mages don't exactly make our lives easier. The less the templars are combing through our streets, the better."

"Understood," Anders snapped. "We won't be a burden on you, Elf."

The elf scowled at him, waved his hand dismissively, and disappeared back around the corner again. Evelyn sighed, pressing her hand to her cheek; so much for feeling safe. The elf had only bought them time. There wouldn't be anyone to protect their trek through the city, and she doubted they could simply stroll into the gallows to meet with Anders' friend.

"We need to find someplace we can hole up for a while," Evelyn said aloud, breaking the contemplative silence between them. "Someplace the templars won't come looking, so we can gather our resources."

"I'll need to get in touch with Karl," Anders added. "Let him know that I'm nearby, see if I can arrange for a meeting."

"Someplace _outside_ the gallows, preferably," Evelyn agreed. "Also, is it just me, or is the fact that they chose the _gallows_ to house their Circle of Magi far too uncomfortably symbolic for good taste?"

"It's not just you," Anders shivered, his eyes narrowing. "That's a clear message if I've ever heard one. By everything Karl's said, they treat their mages like criminals, one step away from being punished for crimes their Knight-Commander imagines they've committed."

"I doubt that the Knight-Commander has _that_ much free reign to mistreat the mages," Evelyn countered sternly. "It's one thing when it's someplace like Kinloch Hold, miles away from civilization where intervention takes months. But Kirkwall's Chantry is practically just down the street from the gallows. They don't like templars making decisions without their approval, even when it comes to mages."

"Maybe you're right," he conceded unwillingly, "But I know that Karl isn't safe here. Everything he's told me..."

"Hey." She placed her hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze as she smiled up at him. "He'll be fine. We'll get him out of the fire. We'll find a way to rescue him. We just need a plan."

His free hand closed over hers, and he smiled in gratitude. "And to have that, we need a place to hide. Any thoughts on that front?"

Evelyn pursed her lips, putting her knuckle over them as she began pacing. The sudden break in contact disappointed Anders, though he wouldn't be able to admit to himself that he had been. "You know, before the templars caught on to our presence, I heard the talk about why there was such heightened security around the place. You remember the Blight, right?"

Keeping his expression neutral, Anders replied, "Yes. I believe I remember the Blight."

She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot- Grey Warden. What a stupid question!" She shook her head. "I meant that more as a leading question, anyway. When Ferelden got overrun by darkspawn, many fled the country. Since Kirkwall was one of the nearest ports, they got a lot of refugees landing on their banks. In fact, they still get waves of them from time to time, since Ferelden isn't exactly entirely free of darkspawn yet."

Anders shrugged faintly, not sure where this was leading.

"Sooo," she dragged out the word, trying to lead Anders by the hand with her logic. "Where _are_ the refugees? We haven't seen one lick of them since we arrived, not even down here in the slums. They have to be going _somewhere_."

The idea clicked in his head. "So we find out where _they've_ been going..."

"...And we can probably hide among them. After all, what are two more among so many refugees?" Her own words saddened her. "Though... we should try to minimize our impact on whatever resources they have... they can't have that much at their disposal..."

"That's a very good idea," Anders agreed. "We're not going to be here very long, anyway. Just long enough to get Karl out."

"Well," she fidgeted awkwardly. "I-I'd like to see my family, first..."

He cringed. "Right. Okay. We'll, uh.. we'll figure out the logistics of our escape later. First things first."

"Indeed," she chuckled. "Asking the locals where they're hiding the Fereldens who invaded their town, and making it look like we're just _curious_. You know, the tiny halfling and the hooded, cloaked man won't rouse _any_ suspicion asking about where we can hide."

"I could ditch the cloak," he reasoned, going for the clasp keeping the hooded garment in place.

"You might fare better without it!" She slapped him on the arm lightheartedly. "It might even be weighing you down- unless you always run like a three-legged mabari?"

"Your words wound me, madam!" His fingers finally unhooked the clasp. With a smooth movement, he let the cloak fall around his feet. The jacket of his robes was closed, for now, but the padded leather he wore couldn't conceal the torn and frayed edges of his robes. Evelyn had noticed before the rust-colored stains, and the peculiar rip in the chest- so precise, it couldn't have been a tear by chance. A tool, or even a weapon, had to have made that opening. Anders' journey to this point had not been an easy one.

"I'm sorry. Would you like some hands-on healing to make it better?" She offered, letting her mouth curl oh so slightly more to one side than the other in subtle innuendo.

"You don't play fair, do you?" He snorted, but the faint pink coming to his cheeks let Evelyn know she'd struck home. It hadn't helped him to catch her staring at the rest of him before springing _that_ on him. "What I would _like_ is to avoid drawing further attention to ourselves. Magic won't exactly help us do that."

"I wasn't necessarily talking about _magic_," she winked.

"I know." The mirth died in his expression as she pressed the thinly veiled flirting further into the foreground. He started past her, brushing her faintly as he peered around the corner out of the alleyway. "And I thought you agreed that we'd keep things light and friendly."

"You're right," she sighed. "I mean, sometimes, talk of these things _can_ be considered just being friendly, but I can see that you're clearly uncomfortable with it. Is the coast still clear?"

"Yes." His eyes weren't focused on scouting the street, however. Memories of nights spent wrapped in warm embraces, evenings engaged in titillating conversation that, as the fireplace died down, so smoldered the words exchanged flashed behind his vision. A lifetime ago, Evelyn's flirting would have been welcome, would have lead down a familiar path for Anders. The heat she kept stirring in him, intentionally or otherwise, he would have indulged and gladly.

"Well, then, let's go, before the templars change their mind about the docks!" Evelyn encouraged, slipping around beside him.

"Right." He smirked, then bowed and gestured for her to step out of the alleyway first. "After you, m'lady."

As she sauntered in front of him, peeking both ways down the street to make sure no prying eyes were keeping a lookout for _them_, Anders watched her in sorrow. Never had there been such a clear symbol of all he'd given up, everything that had changed, after making the agreement with..._him_.

-xxx-

"...And let's just say that things didn't end very well for the _last_ person who decided not to pay Athenril what she was owed." The grip on the beleaguered businessman's collar tightened as the woman holding him pinned to the wall leaned closer. "You don't want the dagger on my hip to become a mutual acquaintance between you and him, do you?"

"N-n-n-n-nuh!" He stammered in reply. "No, I-I really, _really_ don't!"

A grin broke her features, brightening her green eyes with morbid glee. "That's a smart lad!"

With that, she let the man slump to his knees, dusting her hands off. Her grin twisted into a smirk. "So! How do you suppose we go about setting things right again? You _do_ still owe her about thirty sovereigns. Don't suppose you have it on you now?"

"Are you crazy? Who carries that much money on their person at a time?" The man choked out, then shrunk at the glare on her face. "I have maybe five sovereigns that I can spare right now."

The ivory-handled dagger lovingly detailed with gold inlay slid out of the thong strapping it to the woman's hip with a chilling slice. "That really can't be _all_ you've got to spare, can it?"

"Sister, please!" The other girl with the first pleaded, her dark curls bouncing as she caught her arm in her hands. "Five sovereigns and a promise for more should be enough! Athenril said-"

"Athenril said she wants to be paid for services rendered, Bethany," the first woman replied coldly. "Look at the fancy getup he's strolling around in. There is _no_ way he only has five sovereigns in his wallet right now. If we were common bandits, he'd have been stripped down for the gold lining his shirt alone!"

She bent down and lightly cupped the man's face in her gloved hand. "You don't want to strip down for us, do you? I'll let you keep your pretty shirt if you can just be honest with us..."

"_Ten_ sovereigns!" He cried, shivering at the odd balance of tenderness and ferocity in the woman's gaze. "But I swear that's all I have!"

"Ten sovereigns isn't enough, sweetheart," the woman said ruefully, dragging him back to his feet.

"It's all I have! Really and truly!" He yelped, turning white as the dagger's tip made its way against his throat. "Please don't kill me! I'll have the rest in three day's time, a-a-an investment will be turning up a payment soon, I'll have enough then!"

"If you want me to turn you away with your life, I'm going to need one thing from you," she spoke in a low tone.

"_Anything_!" He cried, trying to pull away from the dagger and failing.

"Give us a smile, darling." She grinned. "A nice one, please."

Beads of sweat had formed on his brow throughout her intimidation. At the sudden shift in tone, he stared blankly at her, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard. At the growing impatience in her grin, he promptly threw a strained smile her way, trying to keep it as sweet as possible, but looking more to be gripped in a rictus of pain.

"Good man," she awarded him generously, setting him back down again and putting her dagger away calmly. "I'll take the ten sovereigns as a down payment, and be back in three days' time. You'll get to walk away today with your life and your pretty shirt, Athenril will get her pay, and we'll all be happy."

"Yes!" He agreed fervently, already making plans to ensure that any such collection would never happen, that this thug would never make it past the front door.

"Oh, and one more thing," the woman held up one finger, before running it along his jawline and watching him through her long eyelashes. "If you try to skip town, or throw armed guards at us when we come to collect, there won't be enough left of you to feed your ugly frou-frou hounds. Understood?"

"U-u-under-s-stood!" He stuttered, his voice trembling as he pulled out his wallet. Before he could pry it open, two of her fingers had flipped the thing into her possession. Looking through it, she raised an eyebrow at him, and pulled out the ten sovereigns she'd agreed to take.

"I count twelve, darling." She patted him on the cheek. "But I'll let you keep the two, since I like blonds."

He blanched, unable to say more. He faintly wondered if his pants were suddenly feeling a little warm, and how close he'd come to being shanked by this strange, terrifying young woman. She winked, and sashayed off with her sister trailing behind uncertainly. Realizing that, for the moment, he'd managed to walk away from Athenril's right-hand woman with his life, the man felt the strength drain out of him. Eyes rolling into his skull, he collapsed to the stone ground with a soft thud.

"Was it really necessary to lay it on so thick, Lysandra?" Bethany asked, struggling to keep up with the confident stride of her older sister. "You know, there are times when I wonder about your sanity."

"He wouldn't have listened to me if I'd gone straight thug on him," she replied in amusement. "He would've written me off as a dumb little shit, and would've offered me three sovereigns before running back to his estate with guards. Now, don't get me wrong," she grinned at her sister. "Getting people to underestimate you is also a valid tactic. But Athenril has been grumbling about us being too soft on some of her clients, which I _totally_ blame you for. Let's call these sovereigns the 'Getting Back in Athenril's Good Graces' fund."

"You know, the year is almost up," Bethany pointed out cautiously. "We won't have to answer to her for much longer."

"Another reason we don't want to piss her off!" Lysandra shook her head, letting her own dark hair tumble about her shoulders with a silken sway. "She's looking for reasons to extend our servitude towards her. If we do our job flawlessly for the next few weeks, she'll have nothing to complain about and let us off the hook. The contract will be fulfilled, blah blah blah..."

"Sister, that 'blah blah blah' is rather important, considering it affects both our and Mother's future..." Tired of playing her sister's games, Bethany halted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And then what will we do, when this is all done? We have no job prospects. We're no better than criminals! Who would hire us?"

Lysandra stopped to regard her sister with boredom written all over her features. "So we'll work as mercs for a while. Build on our reputation as steady, reliable hires, and we can work our way up the ladder. Maybe Aveline can even put in a good word for us with the guard!"

"Sister, do you _really_ think that the Captain of the Guard would hire a smuggler and a mage into his ranks?" Bethany pouted. "Even if he lost his good judgment and hired a maniac like _you_, I wouldn't go very far before the templars would catch notice of the guardsman using a fireball to arrest her criminals."

Pressing her lips together, frustrated at her sister's sound logic, Lysandra finally smiled and wrapped Bethany in a tight hug. "Don't worry yourself over it, Sunshine. We'll make things work out. That's what we Hawkes do."

"I guess we'll have to," Bethany sighed, though she returned her sister's embrace.

"That's the spirit!" Lysandra cackled as she released her sister again, flipping the pouch she'd stuck the sovereigns in. It wasn't long before she began whistling tunelessly, adding a bounce to her step. Watching her crazy sister, Bethany couldn't help but smile. Even when things were at their darkest, she could count on her sister to make sure they'd pull through again.


	3. Chapter 3: That Type of Woman

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Three: That Type of Woman_

"I knew it would be bad..." Evelyn murmured as she panned her gaze across the broken, filthy ruins of a town crushed by the city above it. "...But this is unspeakable."

Darktown. The part of Kirkwall that no one was eager to speak about, the underground sewers and passageways filled with a miasmatic haze and disease. Any structure here was haphazard and crumbling, made worse by the damp and foul conditions. The very air tightened Evelyn's chest, thick and putrid with death and decay, and prompted a coughing fit that wracked her whole body.

It was here that the residents of Kirkwall sent the Fereldan refugees and the elves who refused to live in the Alienage located in Lowtown. This was the basement of cruelty, a stark reminder that poverty was unsightly and despised- particularly by those with means. And here, the refugees choked, and cried, and when they could endure no longer, they passed away in the street, curled up in a ball of misery at long last eased.

"I wish I could say I was surprised," Anders started, before shaking his head. "I'm not so bitter that this doesn't hurt to see... but this is the ugliness of the civilized heart at its most exposed. This is what those bastards in Hightown look like under their masks of money."

Recovering from her coughing, Evelyn wiped her mouth clear of debris. "I'll never accept that. They can't know how bad it truly is down here... they are ignorant of it, which is awful, yes. But they couldn't be doing this _deliberately_."

"You don't think so?" Anders replied darkly, his eyes narrowing. "I think they know _exactly_ how bad it is down here, and that's why they do nothing about it. Punish the poor for being poor. Just like they punish mages for being mages."

"Now, Anders, the two aren't exactly comparable situations," Evelyn reasoned, glancing around to make sure no one overheard their conversation. "While it's true that there's little choice involved in being either poor or a mage, a poor person can't start a fire with magic to warm their hands."

Watching a white-bearded man and vacant-eyed child huddle under a woolen blanket, Anders nodded faintly. "This is true. But their circumstances are still a deliberate action on the part of the wealthy and the powerful. They would not need to seek refuge here in the sewers and the grime if there were proper housing and care for them elsewhere."

"Well, they do care for the needy in the Chantry..." Evelyn started to point out, before being cut off by a harsh laugh from Anders.

"The Chantry!" He barked contemptuously. "They don't even _look_ this far down to proselytize and recruit converts! I mean, have you seen sacred sun down here since we took the lift?"

"Well, no, but-"

"They know their words are empty to these people," Anders growled. "They know if they speak of the Maker's forgiveness to those who have seen the ugliness of abject poverty, they'll be lucky if they're simply laughed out!" His brown eyes went ice cold. "I've seen it, time and again, in any major settlement. As soon as there is a divide between the Haves and Have-Nots, the Haves kick their boots to the heads of the Have-Nots and sneer at them for scuffing the leather."

She caught his arm, stopping him as he began to work himself into a frothing rant; partly because she was concerned for his rising anger, and partly because as he lost track of her, his longer legs took faster strides than she could keep up with. Meeting that cool, thoughtful gaze, Anders felt the anger melt away again.

"I know," she asserted calmly. "My hands have been stained with the blood of those I've bent to heal, only to know there is no healing. I've soothed the fevers of many children who contracted plague from horrid conditions. Even as the Blight washed over Ferelden, it was those who could not run, who had no strength to run, that were consumed by the taint.

"You and I, we have had the privilege to see the worst that people have to offer, to learn empathy for the downtrod." Her face contorted with pity. "But I fear that you have not been shown the _good_ in this world, that you are so easily angered. And this saddens me."

For a moment, Anders was struck speechless. Whenever she looked at him that way- and it happened every once in a while, sometimes when she thought he wouldn't notice- he felt that she was seeing straight through him, through every artifice he wore. At the same time that the sensation unsettled him, he saw no judgment there. A smile curled into place. "No... I have seen good in this world. If all were unjust and evil, any struggle to end that corruption would be in vain."

He patted her hand on his arm, his smile broadening, before fading just as quickly as it had slid into place. "I get angry, yes. I get _very_ angry. But it's because there have been a few very good friends who have shown me great kindness, that I have found something worth fighting for."

"In that case, I have an idea." She grinned, albeit with more than a little somberness in her expression. She swept one arm in the direction of the refugees around them. "We have found a place that not even the opportunistic Mothers and Sisters come looking. For the moment, we have someplace to catch our breath and make our plans." She leaned closer, speaking again in a whisper that sent chills down his spine. "If we want to do right by these people, to bring some justice back where it's been deserted, we could always use our 'talents' to help soothe their pain and heal the infirm. What do you say?"

"I don't..." He struggled between two opposing arguments about the idea. On the one hand, he wanted one thing; find Karl, get him out of the Circle, leave Kirkwall, and search for ways to help the mages in their plight _away_ from the hotbed of templars. On the other, he felt the tug at his heart, the appeal to his better nature, and seeing a woman trying to soothe a crying child, he couldn't turn his back on them. He sighed, then smirked at her. "You're not going to let me say 'no', are you?"

Mirth glittered in her eyes. "Nope. I'm gonna help people, and you're going to help me, because that's what good people do." She snickered to continue, "Even heathen apostates like us!"

"But how do we get them to trust us?" he asked doubtfully. "_I_ wouldn't trust us. And trust is a pretty important part of letting someone close enough to heal you."

Her glee at getting him to agree to her course of action dimmed to a softer glow at his question. "_That_ part is easy. Watch."

She slunk away from him, over to the bearded man and the boy. At first, the older man recoiled, sneering as she knelt beside him to talk. As Anders watched, she smiled and spoke softly, reaching out as much with her words and her demeanor as she did her hand. The man steadfastly refused, growing uncomfortable with the dichotomy between his instinct to flee anyone trying to take advantage of him or his grandson, and the gentle coaxing of this young woman to listen.

Finally, she held out both hands to the little boy, and after an uncertain glance to his grandfather, the boy put his hand in hers. Even standing several feet away, Anders could see the red lines indicating an infection from an open wound in his palm. Evelyn closed both hands over the boy's injury, and let her focus drift into her magic. A soft glow illuminated her hands, and the boy yanked his arm back in shock.

"What are you planning, Witch!?" The grandfather cried, getting to his feet in outrage. Anxious at who might overhear, Anders hurried closer to intervene...if necessary.

"Grandpa, look!" The boy exulted, standing and grabbing his grandfather by the arm. "Lookit what she did!"

He did, and the fearful anger in his eyes dissolved into surprise. Indeed, the red lines were gone, the wound little more than a rounded scar in the boy's palm. The weakness that had pinned the child under the blanket for a day now had left, the boy's eyes shining instead of staring distantly.

"You... you _healed_ him..." The man said in wonder, regarding Evelyn warily.

"I did, ser," she agreed, smiling. "And I can help you with that cough-"

His eyes sharpened again. "I haven't been coughing today. It's been going away. How did you know-"

"Ser, I've seen this illness several times. I can hear it in your raw voice that it hasn't been easy for you, and even just now, I've heard a wheeze from your breathing..." She frowned. "It's not good, and untreated, it could... do a lot worse to you."

"But it's _going away_, I tell you!" He protested. "I appreciate what you did for my boy, but I'm not letting an apostate lay her hands on me. I don't know what your game is, girl, but I'd rather die in my right mind than manipulated by a witch!"

"Then you will die," Anders replied coldly, ice frosting the normally warm brown of his eyes. "And you will leave your boy completely alone. Is that what you want?"

The man blanched, and the boy's face scrunched up at the talk of his grandpa being sick. "Grandpa, are you really dying? I thought you was just sick!" Tears formed in his pale blue eyes. "Is it really going to kill you?"

The man glared at Evelyn. "Now you went and scared my grandson with this talk."

"I'm not trying to scare anyone, ser, but if you are unwilling to accept aid, this sickness will overtake you," she insisted firmly. "Even if by some miracle you are able to endure this illness, it will leave you weaker and unable to breathe properly. As I said, I have seen it before."

The man considered her words, his attention flitting between her and the boy standing at his side. Finally, he glanced to Anders, whose arms had folded while waiting for him to make up his mind on the matter.

"Alright, lass," he muttered. "If I trust you to do this... you better not try anything funny with me."

"I promise you, ser, no funny business," she smiled, glad for his concession. "I swear by Andraste's flaming pyre, I will do no harm."

The man nodded curtly, and let Evelyn step closer to him at last. She rested her hand on his chest, and after a second of gathering her energy again, light flowed from her hand into his chest. He took one deep breath, coughed it out irritably, then tried again. This time, the air went deeper, and escaped with barely a shudder. A third breath gasped like a newborn, and came out strong as a buck.

"There," Evelyn murmured, withdrawing again, and falling back a step or two wearily. "That should do it. The illness had really settled in there."

"I had forgotten what breathing without pain was like," the man replied in shock. "That had been with me for a year, ever since we fell in that river trying to escape those darkspawn. I got too cold, and felt odd for days afterwards. It never left... until now."

"I suspect the wretched conditions of our current surroundings might have contributed as well," Evelyn suggested. "I am glad to have helped, even only a bit."

The man thanked her a few more times, both on his behalf and that of his grandson, and parted ways to look for something to eat- after all, he had an appetite again, and scrounging enough together for a meal would take long enough as it is. Evelyn waved him off with a smile as Anders moved next to her.

"You know, you have quite a touch when it comes to ornery people," he remarked casually, fighting a smirk.

"Is that so?"

He grinned at her intentionally innocuous expression. "Well, between your stubbornness and your charm, I imagine it's very difficult for anyone to stand in your way for long."

Rosiness filled in her cheeks, and her gaze fell away. Just as Anders took a breath to ask what was bothering her so, she beamed up at him. "It occurs to me, when it comes to helping the people living here in Darktown, that instead of going around hunting for those who need help, we give them a central location to seek it out."

He let his first inclination to accuse her of changing the subject go, and nodded. "We wouldn't be putting them on the spot that way. That's actually a smart idea. We just need a place to set up shop- er, so to speak."

Scanning the area, Evelyn bounced onto her toes to compensate for her lack of height. "Someplace secluded, out of sight, but not impossible to find... Oo!"

She grabbed his hand in hers, and yanked him off balance as she began tearing through the dirt streets of Darktown. He trailed along behind her, swept up in her enthusiasm yet again. He smiled to himself; it was definitely a pattern for this strange young woman that once she set her mind on a goal, she would get there.

It was a comforting thought.

-xxx-

The chill in the room could have frosted the wine sitting out on the desk, untouched since being poured nearly thirty minutes prior. Papers were stacked haphazardly, some signed and marked with the Warden-Commander's personal seal, others awaiting her perusal, and several earmarked books sat on her effective workstation. To make sure no space was left unused, a large map of the Amaranthine arling sprawled facing the chair, which the Commander stood beside, her back to the three officers awaiting the storm she was only barely holding back.

"No sign to be found of him?" She asked, her voice smooth and silky and low, with the razor edge of her anger glinting beneath the fabric of formality. "You're telling me that two of the most elite scouts in all of Ferelden, handpicked by my second-in-command and trained to be better than the best, couldn't track down a bloody show-off of a mage?"

"N-n-no, Ma'am- Commander, ma'am!" One of them, a young woman just barely old enough to be conscripted, stammered out.

"No?" At this, the commander turned around- slowly, gracefully, like a cat stalking its prey. Her violet eyes, dark and foreboding, fell on the former soldier. "You're _not_ telling me you lost track of one of my men?"

"Well, that is, but-"

"So what _are_ you telling me, then?" Her voice was eerily calm, but not without the bite of her temper. "That you've found him? That you know where he is? That you have some idea of how to find him? Because believe me," her tone flattened coldly, "if you can tell that to me right now, then _someone _won't have to face punishment detail for the next month."

The young woman quailed at the thought of being put on punishment detail- which often included cleaning the privies and waste pans with little more than a rag and some soapy water, on top of grueling physical exercise and torment. "No! I mean, we can't-"

"We were accurate in our report, Commander," the other warden, a lithe, dark-skinned elf, replied calmly. "Unfortunately, what little trail we had to follow ended in Amaranthine proper."

"An honest answer. Thank you." She turned her attention to the elf, appraising him. "But I remain unimpressed that a man who wears bright robes decked out with gold and feathers managed to elude those specifically brought on for their talent in being able to track down a target. Can _you_ explain, perhaps, why someone not known for their subtlety was able to escape you?"

"He moved very quickly, from what we can tell," he answered, his eyes narrowing in frustration at himself more than anything else. "There was a blood trail leading from the scene of the murder for a while, but petered off the closer we got to the city. As much blood as he lost, I would be surprised if he were still alive... but if he died, we would have found his corpse eventually. No," he growled. "I believe he went to port and left by sea. If he had gone by land, there would be something tangible to follow."

The commander nodded thoughtfully, the cold in the room still lingering. "It took you a week to discern all this?"

He frowned. "We wanted to be thorough. We also pursued many of his contacts in the area."

"None of them even _saw_ him passing through the area!" The young woman added helpfully.

"And you believed their word? The word of people who have an interest in protecting either their friend or ally?" The commander sneered. "Perhaps I shouldn't bother with punishment duty. Perhaps I ought to have you flogged for incompetence."

As the girl whimpered, the third officer in the room-tall, dark-haired, imposing even without the ice blue eyes that flared even in dim light, stepped from his place beside the desk to rest his hand on the commander's shoulder. "That might be going a bit far, _Cariad_. The girl looks as though she hasn't slept in days, and after all, they did return to give their report. They have met their responsibility, even if they have not completed their assignment."

She shrugged his hand off in irritation, though some warmth finally sparked in her dark eyes. "I do not care for failure, especially in a matter so grave! Do you recall what that confounded Knight-Commander wrote me in wake of the news of what happened, Loghain? He stopped short of accusing me of orchestrating the whole thing, of giving Anders the leeway he needed to commit murder and flee the country!"

She sneered at herself, glaring at the floor as her arms trembled. "And perhaps I did. This disaster could have been averted if I hadn't been so lenient with him, with an _apostate_ who is _known_ for this very sort of behavior. I should have listened to Rylock when she demanded that we hand him over!"

"Yes, I'm certain that madwoman would have handled him responsibly and without trouble," Loghain replied dryly. "It's not as though we knew her to be unstable or capable of breaking both Chantry law as well as the royal law to achieve her goals."

"You are infuriating with your logic, Loghain," the commander hissed, though the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "But if we do not find him soon, we may face the worst; the Chantry might call for the expulsion of Grey Wardens from Ferelden, and while we may throw him in a dungeon for his insubordination, the templars will do far worse to him."

"Thank you for your report," Loghain directed at the scouts, nodding slightly. "I have some further assignments for you. I will send for you with further instructions. You are dismissed."

The two scouts saluted their superiors, before heading out of the commander's office post-haste. Loghain watched their retreat, thought clouding the ice blue of his eyes. Their footfalls receded around the corner, and Loghain felt assured he was alone with his commander; his _Cariad_. Turning to face her now, he saw that she'd gone to the window overlooking the inner courtyard, her hand clutching her elbow impatiently.

"I failed him." The anger was gone from her voice now, the mask of the Commander falling away to the vulnerable young woman few saw anymore (the number could be counted on one hand, and that was dwindling).

"How, exactly, did you manage to do that?" He joined her at the window, following her gaze to the busy courtyard. "From what I recall, the apostate was in dire straits when you conscripted him. I believe he expressed to you several times that you'd saved his life. Well," he muttered to himself, "he did after a lot of complaining, anyway."

She was not persuaded. "I saw the signs that something was wrong, and did nothing. His jokes were ebbing, and his eyes... the hurt, the confusion, like he's been torn two different ways." She paused, and her voice dipped low. "It reminded me of _him_."

There was no need to clarify who she meant. His expression sharpened coldly for a brief moment, softening only as he reached out his hand to her shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself for what has happened to him- _either_ of them," he added sternly. "If you do, you will drive yourself mad."

"I did this to him!" She cried, whirling to bury her face in his chest with such suddenness he nearly fell back a step. "That light that once shone so strongly in him was dimmed by _me_! But damn him for making me choose between mercy and his vengeance!" She snarled, before crumbling again. "I can bear his hatred, but cold civility? This is why I send you in all royal dealings as of late, Love- I cannot bear to lay eyes on the man he is becoming!"

"I know." He drew his arms around her, brushing his fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to soothe her. "Watching him douse his fire until it is little more than seething embers. Ice where warmth once emanated. It's a dagger embedded in your side that twists every time you see him." He lightly kissed the top of her head. "And he is not your responsibility to save."

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, a hot retort begging to lash him for daring to tell her what her responsibility was. Her words died in her teeth, however, as she clenched them at the pained look in his eyes. "I suppose even the mighty Heroes of Ferelden can't save everyone... even those who mean the most to us."

He agreed with his silence, letting her find comfort in him as he did in her as they stood in the dimly-lit office, enveloped in each other. Even as she settled in, letting his warmth consume her as it always did, her fists clenched and trembled.

She _would_ find him again.


	4. Chapter 4: The Gilded Gelding

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Four: The Gilded Gelding_

"That self-centered, tunnel-visioned, crass, stubborn dwarven _arse_!" Lysandra cursed, loud enough to echo off the white and grey stone of Hightown, astonishing some of the passersby enough to pause in their travels and tut at the harsh language. Scrambling to keep up with her sister's long-strided pace, Bethany trailed behind her.

"Sister, I know you are upset, but let's not draw any further unwanted attention to ourselves!" she spoke softly but fiercely. "You're certain to get the guards involved if you keep yelling like that!"

"I don't give a flying pigeon-crapping fuck what the guards might do because of my yelling!" Lysandra lifted her clenched fists as though preparing to brawl the first person she came across, her face lined with fury. "Let them come and arrest me! I'll get a good night's sleep in my own damn cot and a free meal!"

Bethany paled, halting in her steps, before closing the distance between them to grab her sister's shoulder. "You can't mean that!" she pleaded. "You know what would happen if the guards arrest us- you might get a 'cozy' jail cell for the night, but it'll take them all of two seconds to figure out what I am and-" she stopped herself, terrified.

At this, Lysandra stopped, facing her sister and letting the anger drain from her expression. Without the energy of her rage, exhaustion deepened the lines of her face, aged her more than her twenty-five years. "I would never let them get you, Sunshine. I promise. Besides," amusement glittered in her eyes, "I'm sure we can get Aveline to take care of us if it ever came to that."

"I don't think she has the authority to override the templars, Sister," she sighed, pressing her hand to her face. "There's only so much reach that a city guard has in this city, and I'm pretty sure she's already expended it covering for our less than legal activities as it is!"

"Pfft!" Having no legitimate response to her sister's practical, logical response, Lysandra resorted to snorting and rolling her eyes. She stretched her elbows to the sky, resting her hands on the back of her neck in thought, before an idea struck her hard enough to drop them again. "Hey! I mentioned it before, but maybe she could put a good word for us in with the guard! Or at least, me," she added tersely, grinning.

"You, Lyssie?" Bethany stared in shock, her mouth hanging open. A giggle burst from her before she could smother it. "Not this again! I mean... in the guard? Protecting people? Obeying the law? Enforcing it, even?"

Lysandra pouted. "Why not? I've learned enough about what's illegal in Kirkwall over the year, I've got pretty good insight into the seedy underbelly of the city, I'm certainly capable enou- okay, _stop laughing at me_!"

Bethany tried to stop, but even as her fingers covered her mouth, her eyes shone with mirth. "I'm so sorry, Sister, but trying to picture you in that armor, standing up straight, taking orders, and _not_ smart-mouthing whomever your superior was... I can't stop giggling!"

"You're such a brat!" A gentle swat to Bethany's shoulder only made it worse, and before Lysandra could put on her Big Sister Frowny Face, she began laughing alongside her, wrapping her arm around her waist. "I guess you learned it from me, so I can't really complain."

Bethany grinned. "So what are we going to do? We need _something_."

"Well, a legitimate, steady income isn't quite viable for either of us, and I'm not letting you sell yourself to the Blooming Rose, so- _Hey!_" Her hand slapped to her hip, where her slim and scarcely full money purse was tied- or had been, until a faint brush alerted her to its sudden absence. She spotted a thin, red-headed young man bolting around the corner towards the Chantry.

"Oh _no_ you don't!" Lysandra growled, and broke into a sprint that, had Bethany not been watching her, she could have blinked and seen her disappear. Her dagger sprung from the thong tying it to her forearm into her hand, the steel glinting in her hardened gaze.

Just as she closed the distance between herself and her target to only a few yards, she let a crooked grin split her face, and she drew her dagger back to throw- aimed squarely between his shoulderblades. Instead, however, a loud _kerchunk!_ and mechanical grinding interrupted her, and a thick arrow pinned the lad's shoulder to the wall behind him. She slowed her pursuit, staring at the dwarf cocking his crossbow in barely concealed disappointment.

"I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you. But you?" He advanced on the young thief, who struggled to unpin himself to no avail. "You don't have the style to work Hightown, much less the Merchant's Guild."

He held out his gloved hand to the kid, who reluctantly dropped the purse into the dwarf's waiting palm. Giving the purse a slight toss to test the weight, the dwarf smirked. "Might want to find yourself a new line of work."

Before the lad could speak up in his defense or protest, the dwarf casually punched his jaw, then yanked the arrow from his shoulder in a rough movement that made Bethany- who'd just now caught up with her sister- cringe. He turned his back on the man as he slumped to the ground, dismissing him with a patronizing, "Off you go," before turning his attention on his audience.

He smiled, strutting towards the dark-haired women with as much swagger as could be mustered by his short frame, and tossed the pouch to Lysandra. As she caught it, he spun the arrow he'd collected in his fingers, and greeted her, "How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service!"

Lysandra's eyes narrowed on the dwarf; something was oddly familiar about him, though she knew she'd never laid eyes on him before. Of course! The last name! Her fingers clenched around her dagger.

"I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw-"

"Thank you for collecting my purse for me," she growled. "But I think I've had enough of the Tethras family for one lifetime, and I'm enough of a cocky little shit that I don't need you adding to the pile."

He held up both hands in defense, eyebrows raised. "Hey, I'm sorry if I stole your fun just now, but please, don't place me in the same category as my brother. I assure you, I'm here to make you an offer, one I think you'll want to take."

"What do you mean by that?" Lysandra asked suspiciously, tying her purse back where it belonged- and double-knotting it, this time.

"I mean that I think you'll want to hear me out. See, what my brother doesn't know is, we _need_ someone like you for our expedition. He wouldn't admit it, of course- he's much too proud- but I can see things he can't." His smirk twisted his face.

"And what, praytell, do you see in two nobodies from Lowtown?" Lysandra flipped her dagger in her hand, watching the dwarf curiously now.

"On the contrary, the two of you have made _quite_ the name for yourselves over the last year," he chuckled. "Everyone knows Athenril's gang would never have thrived without your help. I suspect that she's already written a letter to you pleading with you not to leave."

Lysandra scowled. "I suppose that if you know that much, you know about my sister as well."

"A little, yes. And no worries," he winked, "I have no plans on alerting any templars. That wouldn't be conducive to our partnership, after all."

"Damn straight," Lysandra warned. "But let's hear more about this deal you're proposing. How could you convince that stubborn old mule to let us come on this expedition?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Or is that even what you're suggesting?"

"Actually, the last thing our expedition needs is another hireling. No, what we need is a partner!" His brown eyes lit with excitement. "The truth is, Bartrand's been tearing his beard out trying to figure out a way to fund this expedition, but he can't do it.

"Invest in the expedition. Fifty sovereigns, and he can't refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you," he added confidently.

"There's a little problem with your master plan, Tethras," Lysandra purred coolly. "If I _had_ fifty sovereigns to invest in this expedition, I wouldn't need to go _on_ this expedition in the first place!"

"You're thinking too small!" He insisted, spreading his arms as though to indicate the scale of things. "After this expedition, fifty sovereigns will look like pittance compared to the fortune that awaits us. You'll be looking at enough money to set you up for life, and half again!"

"I think you're missing an essential element here, Tethras- _we do not have the money_!"She swept her arm in exasperation. "I would _love_ to be the gallant hero riding in on the golden horse that is Funding Partner, but sadly, I'm missing the fucking gilded gelding!"

"You can easily pick that up working small jobs, and I can even help you find the right ones to help you save up faster," he brushed away her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Save every copper, make them stretch, and do what you do best, Hawke, and I promise you you'll have fifty sovereigns in no time. But if you agree to work with us, I'll make sure you're set up right there with the nobility, turning your pinkie out while sipping fancy tea."

"That is an appealing image," Lysandra agreed, visualizing showing the nobility a thing or two about how Hawkes do 'wealthy'. But then, she paused, and glared at the dwarf. "I'm curious, though. Athenril made sure our names were left out of any accounts that might finger us directly. How in the Void did you manage to know who we were?"

"I'd like to know that, too!" Bethany added, anxiety wrinkling her brow. "If this information is widely available, it could be passed on to the ones who would really _not_ like someone like me running around!"

Varric grinned, and finally put his arrow back in the quiver at his back. "That, my dear lady, is a secret. I'm afraid I can't give that one away, not even to a business partner. But let's just say I'm very good at putting my ear to the ground and listening to the whispers that float around."

"You must be, being so close to it!" Lysandra grinned.

"A height joke! I've _never_ heard one of those before!" He looked to the sky, as though to draw patience from it. "But what do you say, Hawke? Are you in?"

"Hmmm," she hummed to herself, eyeballing the dwarf as though appraising, indeed, a horse made of gold- just to see if it wasn't, in fact, painted. Among her many talents, one thing she prided herself in was her ability to pull information even from the silence of those around her. This dwarf watched her expectantly, but not desperately. He knew he had options elsewhere, but was extending this offer to _her_. There was a sharp intelligence, and more presently, a deep cunning, shining in his eyes. Without much shock, she noted that he was appraising her just as closely; not with as much interest, of course, as he'd already learned a great deal, but seeing the woman in person for himself was different. He was handsome, she noticed without meaning to, young enough to have passion but old enough to know better. He bore no beard, a stereotype that Lysandra had seen fulfilled by most of his kind on the surface and had thus begin to suspect was warranted, though he wore a chest-baring tunic that revealed a rather stunning reddish-blond curly coat of his natural hair. A smirk curled one side of her mouth; the dwarf needed no beard to prove his masculinity, at least.

"Eyes up here, Fereldan," he pointed to his face with a faintly teasing grin. "We can't be business partners with you lusting over my chest, after all."

"I was wondering if you were hiding an animal you're smothering in your tunic, that's all," she shot back, crossing her arms. "I tend to prefer my men a little taller, anyway. With blue eyes."

"Glad to hear I don't have to worry about another admirer, then!" He returned, before holding out his hand to her. "So. Partners?"

A smile slowly made its way across her face, and after exchanging a look with her sister, Lysandra took the dwarf's hand in hers, shaking firmly. "If you can make good on your promise to help us find the right work, then I'd be happy to get in on the ground floor of this."

"Fantastic!" He enthused sincerely.

"But uh, just so we're clear." She twisted her grip until she latched around his wrist, and yanked him closer to glare at him directly in his face. "No Blooming Rose jobs."

After the shock at being caught offguard wore off, Varric cackled at this unsettling, unpredictable woman. "No Blooming Rose jobs," he agreed.


	5. Chapter 5: Wake Me Up

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Five: Wake Me Up_

"Just apply that twice a day, and I promise, you'll see an improvement in less than a week," Evelyn promised the young man who clutched at the salve she'd handed him gratefully. "If you need more, let me know, and I'll be happy to make a new batch for you."

"Oh, thank you, serrah!" the man bowed slightly to her. "Thank you so much!"

She smiled in response, walking him to the door of the little clinic. "You are most welcome. Please, take care of yourself. With all due respect, I'd much rather not see you back here."

His face fell, and he darted a glance to the other mage he'd seen working on another refugee by a cot. "I... I see. Is it because of him? Does he not like you helping other men...?"

"What? No!" With a pout of disapproval at his implications, Evelyn shook her head. "I only meant, you returning means you are either injured or ill! I would prefer neither."

"Oh!" The man couldn't hide the pink that colored his face just then, and began backing out the door awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I... I only presumed, th-the way he looked at you... I'm gonna go."

With that, he turned and scooted himself out of sight, silently swearing that if he needed more salve, he'd sooner try to mix it himself. Watching him go, her hand resting on the doorframe and leaning her weight to one hip, she sighed. After a quick glance around, she then tugged the door closed again, leaving the lantern lit for those who may still need to find the clinic.

Confident that, for the moment, their hideout was secure, she then made her way back to a blood-soaked cot, and began rinsing it with the dish of soapy water she'd put out earlier. She supposed she could use magic to work the stain out, but she was already exhausted from the influx of refugees seeking help earlier. If she tried to draw on her magic any more for anything outside of necessity, she would surely collapse.

That would be the last thing they needed, she mused to herself as she wrung out the dishrag onto the cot itself before scrubbing. In fact, she'd already overworked herself twice since they'd set this place up, and both times, she'd awoken to a very concerned Anders looking down at her, hands on her face as he worked to revive her. Both times, she'd excused herself from his touch before he could declare her feverish and too ill to help out.

"You should be good to go, little miss," Anders assured the girl swinging her legs off the cot with amazement. He smiled to see her wiggling her toes in delight. "Just be sure to watch where you step from now on, and..." he knelt beside her, and lightly tapped the side of her shin, "Be sure to wear your shoes! Walking around Darktown barefoot is just going to invite disaster."

"Yes, ser!" the girl replied, giggling as he tickled at the bottom of her foot- which had moments before been bleeding from a rather serious, jagged cut. Now, all that remained was a scar that she'd have to hunt to see.

"Thank you so much, Ser," her mother started, her hands twisting around her purse. "I can't afford much, but I want to-"

"I'll hear none of it, Ma'am," he insisted, standing straight and pushing her purse back towards her when she started to draw the string. "Keep your money. You get little enough as it is, and I'd rather see your little girl fed."

"I-I can't..." she stammered, tears in her eyes. "You were sent by the Maker, Ser, I just know it!"

He smiled, but the warmth of it clashed with a deep sorrow that refused to recede. "You are very kind, Ma'am. You take care of yourself, and your little miss here." He bent down to nudge her cheek with his knuckle. "You're going to stay out of trouble for your mum's sake, right?"

"Yes!" She proclaimed, then whispered to him, "But can I still come to see you, even if I'm not hurt?"

The smile on his lips turned hollow, unable to mask the sadness she'd inadvertently prodded with her well-meaning words. "Well, sweetheart, I'm not sure that's a good idea. See, some people... really don't like me. And they might try to hurt me if they find me. They might not understand why you are here, and could hurt you too. So I want you to be safe with your mum, instead of coming to see me, okay?"

She sulked, and her eyes misted over at being turned down, but eventually she nodded. "I understand. I don't want these bad people hurting you, so I'll keep it a secret. I promise!"

He ruffled his fingers through her hair, eliciting another pleased giggle from the girl. "Thank you," he murmured, before abruptly turning from both mother and daughter to go towards his back room.

Having done her best to clean the cot, Evelyn threw the rag on the fading stain and moved to help the little girl get her shoes back on. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized to the mother. "He sometimes needs a moment to himself."

"I understand, believe me, I do," the woman replied, hugging her daughter to her once the shoes were on. "The man has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's fortunate to have you, I think, easing his burden."

"Oh that's..." Evelyn blushed, brushing her fingers through her short curls. "I would say the reverse, actually... I am very fortunate to be able to work with him. He does good work here."

"Don't sell yourself short!" the woman insisted.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I can't help the short part," she grinned, gesturing to her diminutive stature.

This earned a laugh from the woman. "No, I suppose not. But I only meant, you were the one who carried my Lessia from the door, the first one to check her. You are as much a part of the good work here as he is. Thank you."

Evelyn nodded and helped them both to the door of the clinic. After waving them off, she checked to see if there were any other patients in the clinic. Determining that they were, at last, alone for the evening, Evelyn trotted towards the back room that Anders had disappeared into.

"Anders?" She called, stepping further into the small alcove that lead into the room he'd set up as his personal space. "I think we're all clear, for now. How are you holding up?"

There was no response. Frowning, Evelyn pressed further inside, peeking her head around the corner. The room inside was small, close quarters with a simple cot made up with a white, lace pillow and a wool blanket across from a chest, a small desk stacked with papers and a book or two, and a basin. She found him slumped on his bed, resting his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees, wisps of blond draping over his fingers.

"Hey there," she greeted again so as not to startle him, venturing into his room slowly. He looked up, staring at her with eyes that recognized nothing, before settling back to the Anders she'd come to know.

"Oh!" He gasped, before standing. "I'm sorry, is there another patient?"

"Yes," she replied, her frown returning. "You. Now sit back down."

"Wha-"

"_Sit_."

He eased back down to his cot, looking up at her warily. "What do you mean, I'm a patient? I'm fine-"

"You're about as fine as I am green," she replied, putting her hands on his shoulders to prevent him from standing again. "You've been crumbling all afternoon, and look at you! Your eyes are red. Have you gotten _any_ sleep in the last couple of nights?"

"No," he mumbled, grumbling. "But I don't see how that's important right now. I've gone with less sleep for longer periods of time before, and managed just fine. I just needed a moment to breathe."

"Anders, what would you tell me if you saw me in the same state you are now?" She met his gaze purposefully, the blue of her eyes piercing straight through him.

"This is different," he muttered, before gaining a bit more power in his voice. "Besides, you've already pushed yourself beyond your limits a few times now. I don't think you have any right to lecture me."

"And what did you say to me the last time it happened?"

He looked away. He had to. He couldn't tell her why sleep didn't come so easily to him, why it was better for him to stay active, to stay moving, to avoid drifting into that realm where such wonderful and horrible things could happen to him. But she was making a damned good argument. "I don't care what I told you, I'm not going to sit back here while others need help. If you won't let me back on the floor," he met her gaze again with a sharp edge to his eyes, "I'll just keep working back here."

Her hands slipped off his shoulders, and her arms went around him, hugging his head to her chest. Just as he stammered in shock, her fingers went up to his hair, resting on top of his head, and she bent over him. "Anders... please. You need rest. You can trust me, at least for a few hours. I swear to you, I'll keep you safe. I'm a massive hypocrite, I know, but I'll take it personally if you collapse out there, and be _very_ cross with you."

_Warmth_. The gentle, soothing ministrations of her fingers against his scalp, her calm voice, her enveloping softness washed over him, rinsed out his resolve, left him weak and weary. He closed his eyes only for a moment, and felt the strength drain out of him as the compelling siren song of sleep, of rest, of temporary respite lulled him. More than anything else, he wanted to stay right where he was, pressed to her, protected by her. His eyes opened again, slowly and reluctantly, and as they came into focus again, her smile cleared the bleariness from his vision.

"Will you get some sleep, my friend?" She slackened her grip on him, but still held him steady.

"...There is _no_ arguing with you, is there?" He smirked at himself. "Fine. I'll get some sleep. But..." he trailed off, unwilling to finish his thought, yet craving what he dared not ask for with a strength he'd never known before.

"But?" She repeated, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"...But..." he ached to ask, but shook his head. "But... be sure to wake me in a few hours' time. I still have to meet with a correspondent about Karl."

Her smile deepened. "I will do so. And if there's anything else you need from me, don't hesitate to ask."

"A few hours, that's all," he repeated, nodding to her to send her off again. He watched her as she slid back out to the main area of the clinic, his expression tightening as pain gripped his heart. How could he possibly rest? But he had to try, if only for the worry that had put a wrinkle between her eyebrows when she studied him.

He settled back into his cot, not even bothering to remove his boots, tugging the blanket over his waist. As he lay, staring at the ceiling, he conjured the sight of her again, the feel of her arms around him, the warmth in her voice. Sleep stole his senses faster than he realized, rapidly pulling him down a tunnel he didn't care to travel through.

"Don't leave," he whispered to the ceiling, voicing his request only when she could not hear him. His eyelids closed over his vision again. "Ever... _please_..."

-xxx-

A soft rain had coated the streets of Hightown in a silvery glaze, illuminated by lamplight and the high rise of the moon overhead. The air was thick, cooling rapidly and leaving a clammy feeling behind on the skin, and the only sound that broke the pervasive silence of a contentedly sleepy neighborhood was the distant clank of armored boots on their nightly patrols. That, and the soft padding of Evelyn's light stride as she slipped through the shadows.

For the moment, she was in her element. Hidden, alone, she could let her tumultuous thoughts fight one another to exhaustion and leave her finally at peace again. Only, her conflict wasn't settling, only worsening, deepening. Drawing her cape around her shoulders, more for the feel of fabric between her fingers than out of any chill, she couldn't seem to parse out the problem this time in a way that could be resolved.

On the one side of her mind, she was restless, eager to flee to the outskirts of some hamlet and abandon the city to its wretched, corrupt ways. She could walk freely, bask in the moonlight and let the sun on her skin, bathe in the river, revel in the beauty of the Maker's creation without fear of discovery. The stink of Darktown had robbed her memory of fresh air, of sun, of warmth, and she wanted to rinse the ugliness of the pain that beat as lifeblood to this forsaken Kirkwall.

On the other, she knew already she could no sooner leave a place that needed help so badly than she could remove her leg. There was too much here to turn her back on, too many wrongs and injustices that cried out in the night, that wept in the daylight, that soaked into her as surely as the bloodstained cots in Anders' clinic.

_Anders..._ And such was the heart of her conflict. In just a few weeks' time, she'd found herself bound to this strange man, her only friend in the world. She could not abandon him, not his work, and not when _he_ needed her- more surely than the broken Kirkwall ever would. She sighed, and paused beside a column supporting the balcony of one of the wealthier estates of Hightown, pressing her hand over her eyes. No, trying to leave _him_ would kill her as surely as tearing her own heart out.

He didn't think she saw the way he looked at her sometimes, wistful and sad, tortured and glad all at once. She saw, and every time, she had to tell herself to stop, to focus on something else, anything but those honeyed eyes warming and then hardening. She wondered how obvious her own attraction was, if she could ever really conceal from him how she felt.

"Evelyn Amell, you are ever the fool..." she reprimanded herself, laughing bitterly. "Inescapably, persistently trapped by your own heart time and again..."

A soft footfall broke into her mournful reverie, and Evelyn immediately slunk into the shadows, not daring to let herself be seen _here_- not where it would be a quick hop into Templar territory, not so near the Chantry. The footsteps were odd, and her brow furrowed as she puzzled out what sounded so off. Finally, it struck her; it sounded like bare feet hitting the stone. Who would be so mad as to be running about without any shoes on? Even more disconcerting, the singular footsteps were joined by boots of heavier make- several more.

She got her answer in a streak of dark clothes, pointy armor, and silver hair. A young man- no, an _elf_, by those ears- was being pursued by many far more heavily armored men along with a few robed ones. Even stranger, the elf's slight frame somehow carried a daunting greatsword, one that could have cleaved a man in two if swung the right way! As Evelyn watched, the elf froze in the dead end he'd gotten himself into; buildings on all sides, and a gang of men closing in on him from his only exit. He staggered as he frantically searched for a way out, then turned to face his attackers with a fierce glower.

Seeing their prey cornered, the men stopped, a leader stepping forward to toy with the elf. "I'll say this, slave, you're one nimble little arse! Almost slipped away from us, didn't you?"

Wordlessly, the elf gripped the hilt of the greatsword and drew it with no sign of the tremendous weight affecting him. From where she stood, yards away from the lone elf, Evelyn recognized the look in his eye; a cornered animal with sharp teeth and nothing to lose.

"You'll be coming back with us, Elf. Your master wants you back intact, though he didn't say in what condition!" The leader guffawed, slapping his knee and eliciting further chuckles from his men.

"I'd tell you to pass a message on to Danarius," the elf snarled, "But you will not live as long as to see him again!"

"Oh? And what can one elf do against seven men?" The leader laughed, right up until a sharp pain gripped his heart- literally. With a shocked, bloodied gasp, the leader stared down at the elf, who had closed the distance between them in an instant and embedded his hand straight in the leader's chest. The elf glowed, the unusual pattern etched into his skin illuminating in the dark of the night.

"Plenty," the elf replied, yanking his hand from the man's chest, and taking with it the heart he'd closed his fingers around. Evelyn had to suppress her strangled cry of surprise at this display of gore. How in Thedas had the elf managed to do that? Was he a mage of some sort? No... the glowing pattern had a familiar vibration to her. _Lyrium!_

The others, now deprived of their leader, fell back a few paces, unsure what to do. Their orders still stood, but the game had changed on them. Sensing the indecision, the elf turned on his would-be captors, this time putting the large sword he wielded to use. He charged, scattering them with a wide swipe of his blade. Unfortunately, this also left him open to flanking, which his attackers immediately took advantage of; now that he'd switched to good old-fashioned swordplay, they'd regained their confidence.

Three lunged at him from either side, while one clashed blades with him from the front. He saw his predicament, and used their attack against them. With a roar, he swept his sword in a circle around himself, letting the blade slice the air with a metallic ringing, which connected with one man who was too slow to pull out of his charge fast enough. The sword left a deep gash in his chest, and he fell to the ground, never to stand again.

The elf leapt from being flanked while the others struggled to recover from their failed attack, but before he could prepare his next move, a sickly white light surrounded him in rings, freezing his muscles and holding him prisoner. One of the two mages held his concentration on the elf, the other weaving his hands around another spell, electricity crackling from his fingertips.

Evelyn's eyes narrowed dangerously as the second mage unleashed his lightning, and her hands clenched in fury to see the elf convulsing in pain. No matter how well this elf could handle himself, there was nothing he could do against magic- especially the magic of those with no morals, as Evelyn judged by the talk of 'slaves' and recapturing the elf.

"Looks like we got him now, boys!" One crowed exultantly, grinning despite the nerves threatening to shake him apart. "Now, let's get that rope-"

Before he could finish his order, however, a spark shot between him and his target, striking one of the mages with a full blown bolt of lightning- but it didn't stop there. No, this lightning danced from one man to the next, bouncing and rebounding until two more men slumped into unconsciousness, and one mage fell, his heart stopped.

"What the-" the man holding the rope cried out in shock as the rope itself came to life, ensnaring him and constricting tighter by the second.

With the mage who held him pinned with a paralyzing spell having collapsed, the elf broke free of the rings of light with a shout of defiance, and turned his attention on the shadows where Evelyn lurked, her hands outstretched as she continued manipulating the rope.

"Go!" Evelyn urged the elf, stepping further into the moonlight. "I'll take care of them!"

The anger burning in the elf's green eyes startled Evelyn, enough that she nearly lost concentration on her magic. If he could have impaled her with his gaze alone, he would have drawn heart's blood from her. Instead, however, he focused on the few men that remained, hauling his greatsword with such force the blade nearly bent.

"Or, you could just keep attacking," Evelyn muttered to herself, "That works, too."

She wrenched her hands, twisting them sharply, and the rope she held control over mimicked her motion- snapping the neck of the man in its captivity. He went limp instantly, and she relinquished control of the rope, satisfied he wouldn't be posing a threat to anyone anymore. She dashed closer, making sure to keep her hood down over her face as she did- the last thing she needed was to be recognized while doing magic.

"Hey, stupid!" She taunted the other mage, drawing his ire away from the elf. "How many times have you set your fancy robes on fire? Today, I mean?"

"You shut up!" The mage retorted, wit apparently the furthest thing from his mind. The fire he was conjuring for the elf consumed his hands, and he sent a blast her way instead.

Instead of connecting with its target, however, the fire curled around a pillar of ice that had risen at her behest. Even as parts of it melted away, Evelyn was safe behind her barrier- but she wasn't content with that. Smirking, she drew back both hands, and sent a concussive bolt straight into the ice, shattering it into shards that spread in every direction. One jagged spike sank into the mage's neck, sending a gurgled bubble of air and blood sputtering out his mouth. Others sprayed the men still trying to fend off the elf, who had already taken down two more with one swing.

Glancing around at his fallen comrades, the lone survivor trembled at the knees. In a desperate move, he flung his sword aside, throwing both hands up in surrender. "Okay! I give! You win!"

"I am not here to _win_," the elf growled, advancing still on the man. "You came for _me_. I cannot allow you to escape and bring others here."

"I-I-I won't! I promise! I _swear_!" the man stammered vehemently. "I just want to leave with all my limbs intact! How was I supposed to know you had a mage friend? I don't want _her_ coming after me, either!"

"She is not my friend!" The elf hissed, gripping his sword all the more tightly. "And I cannot trust your word!"

"You're singing a different tune now that you're the one outnumbered and overpowered," Evelyn added, scowling. "Do you really think either one of us could trust the word of a coward? You would flee, find more friends, and return when you think you can win."

"N-no! I swear!" the man repeated, though the blood drained from his face at her accusation.

"I will not give you the opportunity to break your promise," the elf intoned darkly. With a sudden movement, he thrust his sword straight through the man's gut, his expression neutral- except for the cold anger burning in his eyes. The man groaned, then, when his legs could no longer hold him, slid off of the elf's sword.

After allowing a moment for the elf to recover from the battle, her own thoughts torn on killing a man who had surrendered and knowing that it was for the best, Evelyn warily stepped closer to the elf. "You... are you alright?"

His hand was at her throat before she could even register movement. As she gasped in shock, she was thrust against a column, held off her feet at her neck. Despite her struggles, he held her pinned, and when her brain finally caught up with what had just happened, she was terrified to stare into eyes seething with rage.

"Who are you!?" he demanded, the metal encasing his fingers biting into her neck. "Who sent you? What are you after!?"

Ignoring the clawing terror threatening to scream out of her, Evelyn forced herself to calm down. Her hands went around his wrist, only to support her own weight better and give herself a better gulp of air. When she spoke, it was in even, soothing tones. "Please, calm down. I was not sent by anyone; I was only passing through the area."

"And why should I believe that?" He sneered, tightening his hold on her. "A mage just _happens_ to be passing through the well-guarded upper-class neighborhood? Just happens to intervene when I find myself tracked down by my master's men?"

"Who didn't recognize me," she pointed out. "If I were part of their plot, why would they not know me?"

"You could easily be a secondary hireling, brought on without their knowledge," he spat back in her face, though uncertainty knit his eyebrows.

"If I wanted to harm you, I could have already," she groaned through the pain, the lightness in her head getting to her. "My hands are unbound. I... please, I can't breathe...!"

For a heavy moment, the elf studied her expression, searching for any sign of deceit. Evelyn's struggles slowed, her hold on his wrist weakening. Finally, released her, letting her fall to her knees on the stone, gasping for air between coughs.

"I'm not sure if I believe you, mage, but I owe you my life." He stowed his greatsword, keeping his gaze on her as she fought to regain the air in her lungs. "I will let you go. Do not pursue me."

Finally gaining control of herself, Evelyn smiled wearily up at him, her hood tilting back from her face. "Evelyn."

He blinked. "What?"

"You asked me who I was. I'm Evelyn Amell," she stood, and held out her hand to the elf. "It's only fair that you get your answer."

He stared blankly, not having expected this turn of events. An introduction was the furthest thing from his mind, and that smile of hers after being throttled by him was disarming. "I did not mean for..."

"I know," she chuckled, then coughed once more. "But I can't expect you to trust me without a name."

He regarded her quietly, sullenly, masking his confusion with a familiar mood- surliness. Without taking her hand, he nodded at last. "...Fenris."

She let her hand fall back to her side, and broadened her smile. "Well, Fenris... please, be careful." The smile faded with genuine concern. "I don't know everything that's going on, but they were really invested in capturing you, and-"

"I do not need your pity, mage," he snapped, glaring sharply. "Nor do I care for further aid. Go back to your shadows and let me return to mine. We are done, here."

Before she could reply, he turned his back on her, fleeing back out of the dead end he'd been chased into. No, she thought with a bittersweet smile, her arms folding under her chest uncomfortably. He was fleeing from _her_. From the very idea of someone caring about his plight.

She sighed... that was a concept a little too familiar to her.


	6. Chapter 6: Ruffling Feathers

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Six: Ruffling Feathers_

"Ugh, I hate the stink of this place," Lysandra muttered, her nose wrinkling as the lift descended towards Darktown. "It's the kind of smell that gets stuck in your nose for hours after you leave, and then sinks into your clothes. Eugh. I hope this doesn't take too long."

"Well, assuming that it's not too difficult to find this mysterious 'lit lantern', and that this guy doesn't give us a hard time, I don't imagine it will, Hawke," Varric shrugged. "Believe me, I'm not keen on lingering here any longer than necessary."

The lift, cranking and groaning and complaining as it made its way into the seedy underbelly of the city , finally opened up to the area known as Darktown. Lysandra had spent more than enough time down here to get a distinct distaste for the blighted place- and blighted was right. Too many of the refugees from Ferelden had brought with them the Blight Sickness, a fact that had driven so many of them underground and into the sewers. As loathe as Lysandra was to admit it, she hoped that those still struggling with the illness would die off quickly, to avoid the spread of the illness to other parts of the city.

Fortunately, this also meant she knew her way around, and if there was someone else who had set up shop here, he would stick out like a sore thumb. Especially if, as according to both Varric and Lirene, the man was a Grey Warden. Every account she'd heard of that fabled order had left her with the impression that something about the Wardens made them seem a little different. Besides, few people down here bothered to actually light lanterns; darkness had become a way of life for them.

"So, in, get the maps, and out again," she ordered. "No loitering, no stooping to help the sick, no pitying glances and sad puppy eyes and going '_but Sisteeeer_!' either."

Bethany pouted at that. "Oh hush. As if I could convince you to do anything but what you wanted!"

"You do, all the time. Father let you get away with murder, too," Lysandra pointed out with a smirk.

"I hardly think wanting to help those not as fortunate as we are is the same as getting away with murder!" Bethany protested.

"You _would_ think that!"

If either sibling had more to say on the subject, they were cut off by the sudden jerky stop of the lift settling abruptly onto Darktown soil. Flipping a copper to the man running the lift as a tip (and insurance he wouldn't be grumpy with them later), Lysandra strolled out into the open, followed closely by her two companions. Bethany held her sleeve over her nose and mouth, while Varric sighed and shook his head.

"Let's get moving," Lysandra suggested to them briskly, eager to get started on their task. She scanned the area for any signs of something... _different_. Something that had changed since she'd been here last. Something that might tip her off as to what direction to head in.

"Instead of wandering blindly, maybe one of the locals has an idea of where we could look," Varric suggested at Lysandra's confusion. "Given the reputation of this clinic, I'm sure they'd know of it down here."

"Right." Lysandra strode up to a young man gingerly rubbing his arm with some sort of salve. "Hey, you!"

The man started, nearly dropping the jar to spill on the ground. "Wh-what?"

Cheerfully helping the lad to his feet by his collar, Lysandra smiled sweetly at him. "That looks like some nice stuff for a _nasty_-looking rash there. Where'd you get it?"

Given a closer look at her, the man blinked rapidly, before shaking his head. "Woah, yeah. Uh, I got it from the healers, you know?"

"Have we met?" Lysandra asked, tilting her head curiously. "You looked like you recognized me just then."

"Healers? As in, plural?" Bethany added in question.

"Huh? No, I don't think so," the man chuckled. "You just looked a lot like someone... kinda funny, given what we're talking about. And yes, healers. There are two of 'em, hanging out in that clinic of theirs."

"Varric, you know anything about there being a second Grey Warden wandering about?" Lysandra glanced to the dwarf expectantly.

He shook his head, frowning. "No, no other Grey Wardens, though there have been rumors about there being a girl associated with him. I hadn't considered she might also be helping him with his little setup down here."

"So where are they?" She turned her attention back on the lad, her hand still gripping his collar. "I'm looking for them."

"You're not going to hurt them, are you?" the man asked, suspicion creeping into his expression. "Because if you are, I ain't talking."

"Hurt them? By the Maker, why would I hurt them?" Lysandra asked, bewildered. "I just want to talk to the Warden, take some maps from him, maybe pinch his butt if he's cute. If he's hurt by _that_, then there are bigger issues than what _I_ want to do with them."

The man laughed. "Well, in that case, go right ahead. He looks miserable enough as it is, and I think he's dragging the girl down with him. The clinic is thattaway," he pointed through the chaotic tangle of streets and alleys.

"Thank you!" Lysandra replied with every ounce of saccharine in her, before letting go of his collar and watching him topple back to the ground. She rounded on her companions. "So, now we know a little more about what we're getting into. We have to keep an eye out for this second mage. Sunshine, if you don't mind keeping ready in case she tries something with us..."

"I understand, Sister, but I don't think it will come to that," Bethany said softly. "Look at how he speaks of her. I don't think she's the sort to spring an attack on us."

"You'd be surprised what people can do when they're desperate or startled," Lysandra muttered. "Just watch for it, alright?"

"...Okay."

The three of them made their way through the darkened, shadowed streets of Darktown, stepping carefully and giving the residents a wide berth to avoid conflicts as best they could. As nicely dressed and clean as they were, they stood out sharply from the refugees left down here. Bethany watched them all pass with saddened eyes, knowing that but for a year of indentured service to a smuggler, she and her sister would have been among them.

Finally, Lysandra pointed out the very sign they'd been directed to since Lirene's shop- a lantern lit above a pair of doorways. Outside of the small group of people that had gathered outside of the doors, there was nothing else remarkable about the place. Several of them nursed injuries, others were smiling to themselves, but they regarded the newcomers with suspicion. A few even moved as though to block the doors from them. Lysandra waved to them, friendly and upbeat.

"Well, Hi there! Is this where I can find the healer?" She asked brightly.

"Depends on who's askin'," one replied, glowering.

"Oh, I'm a refugee, just like you guys! Ferelden born and raised. I even have my own Mabari! Though... he's at home right now..." Lysandra giggled sheepishly. "But see, my sister here, she's got an awful cough-"

"I do?" Bethany started to ask, before being elbowed hard in the ribs. "Ow! I-I mean... ahem..." she feigned a few weak coughs.

"See?" Lysandra folded her arms. "I know you guys want to protect him, but I really need to get her treated right away. Are you going to stop us?"

"No, but you keep this in mind," the refugee replied, leaning over her. "We watch out for our own. And the healers have done a lot for us."

"No worries, my good man!" She clapped him on the back, grinning. "And thank you for watching out for everyone's best interests."

Without any ceremony, Lysandra opened the door to the clinic, keeping a close watch on the room for any signs of suspicious magical activity. Rolling her eyes, Bethany gave her sister a shove forward, nudging her in amusement as she came to stand beside her. As the two moved inward, followed closely by the dwarf that would be partner, they watched the healer at work; a young man, maybe only a bit older than Lysandra herself, stood over a young boy, working his healing magic. The boy certainly didn't look good- passed out, or worse, and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Knowing this to be a sign of an internal injury, Lysandra frowned. Could he be healed of this?

The healer, blond wisps of hair falling over his eyes, looked worse for wear himself. Dark markings under his eyes, a pale complexion and a faint tremble in his movements. He had to be working himself to exhaustion, and even now, he faltered. Suddenly, he closed his eyes, and a new surge of power poured from his hands, pulling the injury out of the boy and raising him to consciousness again. The boy convulsed, gasped, breathed deeply, and stirred from his place on the cot.

Just as the grateful mother embraced her darling boy, he turned away to gather his strength again. He was hunched, Lysandra saw as she approached, and barely holding himself upright. Indeed, as though sensing his momentary weakness, a woman emerged from the back room and hurried to his side. While the healer's back was now to Lysandra, the girl's worried expression was clear even from where Lysandra was standing. Her words were undoubtedly soothing as she put both hands on the healer's shoulders.

Something struck her about the girl's appearance. She'd never laid eyes on the small woman before, Lysandra knew that, but a chord of familiarity strummed in the back of her mind and she couldn't put the thought away entirely. Still, her focus was the healer, and she was definitely not keen on pondering the identity of this girl at the expense of getting out of this wretched pit faster. So, after gesturing to both Varric and Bethany to keep back- just in _case_ things went sour- she stepped closer.

The man's back straightened to rigidity, the sudden motion startling the girl. He grabbed his staff and rounded on Lysandra, staff raised and his hand outstretched, and demanded, "_I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it_?"

Lysandra immediately threw up both hands defensively, her eyes widening. "Woah, buddy, I'm not here to threaten anything! I just _walked in_. Unless you greet all your patients this way, in which case I doubt the 'sanctum' feel you're going for."

Sensing an opportunity to help ease the tension, Varric butted in. "We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumor has it that you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"

The man hesitated, watching both Lysandra and Varric with deep suspicion, before letting his staff tip to the ground. "And who told you that?"

"Little birds of rumor flitting about Lowtown. You've earned quite a reputation among the refugees, and naturally, they've been curious about you enough to gossip like old wives," Lysandra shrugged, smirking. "Are you? A Grey Warden, I mean. You certainly don't _look_ like one. Though," she added as an afterthought, "I suppose I don't know what a Grey Warden is _supposed_ to look like... so maybe you look exactly like one."

Confusion dotted the man's expression, and the girl with him laid her hand on his arm as she addressed Lysandra. "I'm guessing that means you haven't had contact with the local chapter of Wardens, then? So you're not, say, _sent_ by them, looking for Anders?"

Lysandra glanced between both of them, a grin curling her lips. "_Are_ they looking for you? My, aren't you popular!" She shrugged. "But no, we weren't sent by anyone but opportunistic greed and ambition. And because, like Varric here said, we thought you might be able to help us find a way into the Deep Roads."

"Why in all of the Maker's Creation would you want to go down _there_?" Anders asked, his face tightening in disgust. "It's old, infested with darkspawn, and just absolutely _coated_ with taint."

"Heavy risk," Lysandra grinned, "But the _prize_..."

Unimpressed, Anders shook his head. "You're mad. I wouldn't send my enemies down there."

"No one has _ever_ accused me of sanity, this is true, but allow me to elucidate for you," she replied caustically. "See, we're planning on an expedition into the Deep Roads, to a very old thaig that hasn't been touched by anything but darkspawn for centuries. Problem is, we need to find a way _into_ the Deep Roads before we can start looking for this long lost thaig, and we're a bit stumped on that front. We were hoping you might be a bit more helpful and less 'I'm going to accuse you of being crazy'- _like I've never heard that before_."

"So, _are_ you a Grey Warden?" Bethany piped up in the wake of Lysandra's sarcasm. "I don't mean to pry, but it helps us to know if we're even on the right track."

Anders set his staff against the cot and folded his arms, thinking over his response. "Yes, I am. Or at least, I was. I'm afraid that I've since parted ways with that fine order, however, and I haven't kept contact with them." A dark smile twisted into place. "It wasn't a pleasant parting. The Grey Wardens aren't very well disposed to someone leaving the order."

"I thought the rule was, once a Grey Warden, _always_ a Grey Warden?" Lysandra asked.

"That's only _partly_ true." He smirked. "The 'hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn' and 'plagued by nightmares about the Archdemon' parts don't go away. But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties."

Lysandra bit her lower lip teasingly, grinning. "I like that 'hopelessly tainted' bit. But perhaps that's just because of where _my_ brain goes when a handsome guy like you says 'tainted'."

"_Sister, please!_" Bethany begged, her face staining with red.

His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting upwards at her words. Despite himself, he chuckled and shook his head. "Did you come here about the Deep Roads, or to flirt with me?"

"I can't do both?" She pouted. "I could always continue making comments about exploring _your_ Deep Roads and being tainted by you, even while discussing formal business matters."

Varric put his palm over his face, massaging his forehead as though pained. "Not the way _I_ would conduct business..."

"With all due respect," the woman at his side spoke coldly, firmly, "Perhaps you ought to stick with conducting yourself professionally. You _are_ asking him for a favor, after all."

"You're no fun," Lysandra sniffed. "Fine. Do you know a way we can get into the Deep Roads, Ser Ex-Warden?"

He considered her request, exchanging a glance with the woman at his side. He shook his head and glowered at Lysandra. "I will die a happy man if I never have to think about those blighted Deep Roads again. You have _no idea_ what I've been through getting away from all that. I'm not interested in..." he paused thoughtfully, then continued in a softer voice. "Although... a favor for a favor..."

"Anders, no." The woman paled at his shift in tone. "You can't be thinking...?"

"Why not?" he asked of her, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Evelyn, but we could use all the help we can get."

"Yes, but..." she looked back to Lysandra, who was now regarding her with an arched eyebrow of her own. "This is an exceedingly delicate matter. Besides, if they come along, we might be endangering _her_ as well!" She pointed to Bethany, who jolted in shock.

"Me?" she squeaked. "Why would I be in danger? What are you-" She cut herself off, frowning. "How could you tell?"

At this, Evelyn smiled sadly at Bethany. "I can sense it in you. The magic. It runs in my veins, too."

Lysandra scowled. "This favor... does it involve templars?"

Anders shook his head. "It shouldn't. In fact, it should be a very simple... but I'd rather not say more unless you're willing to strike the deal with us."

She looked back to her companions, asking silently for their thoughts. Bethany shook her head slightly, anxiety rippling over her expression. The potential involvement of templars threw her off considerably. Varric, on the other hand, nodded his assent. They needed a way into the Deep Roads, and this was their best shot. Lysandra looked back to the pair of mages, tapping her finger over her lips. "You know, even without the business end of this, I'd probably end up helping you. I like you; you give me a good feeling- in more ways than one," she winked at this. "But I don't think you're the sort who endangers people recklessly- that's _my_ job- and you seem like a good man."

Surprised at this assessment, Anders glanced away, not certain how to respond. She continued, "Besides, if it involves sticking it to the templars, I'm all for it. If you can give us a safe, expedited way into the Deep Roads, then you've got yourself a deal!"

Once again, both Evelyn and Anders exchanged a look, this time much longer. While Anders smiled faintly in answer to Evelyn's concerned look, the latter sighed, and nodded to him. The smile dropped from his face as he looked to Lysandra."Very well. I have some maps that should help you find what you're looking for. I'll give them to you on the condition that you meet me outside the Chantry later tonight."

"The Chantry?" Lysandra wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Why would you want to go _there_? It's boring enough during the day, but at _night_..."

"I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage," he added, sighing. "A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me get him safely past them, and you shall have your maps."

"And _there it is_," Lysandra crowed, chuckling. "Why does it always come down to getting mages away from templars?"

This joke did not go over so well with Anders, whose expression darkened. "If you don't care to help us..."

"Oh no, it's not that," Lysandra said quickly, "It's just that my family has been doing that since _forever_, whether it was my father or my sister, so we're used to it. If anything, it just seems ironic. It's like the Maker has just said, 'That Hawke family. They'll be helping mages get away from templars, and damn anyone who says differently.' I was hoping my destiny would be a little less mage-related."

"Thanks for that," Bethany pouted.

"Well, outside of my sister. Oh by the way, this is my sister, Bethany," she gestured between the mages. "I'm Lysandra. This is the crazy dwarf who's making our lives simultaneously more difficult and possibly better. But he'd probably prefer 'Varric'."

"She's calling _me_ crazy," the dwarf muttered under his breath.

"Says the dwarf talking to himself!" she pointed out with a grin.

"Anders," the healer replied by way of introduction, "And this is Evelyn, a friend of mine."

"How good of a friend are we talking?" Lysandra asked cunningly, grinning as the young girl turned pink at the question. "I mean, I just want to know if I'll be ruffling any feathers by ruffling _your_ feathers."

"Friends," Evelyn replied stiffly. "Good friends. But don't worry, if you want to start digging around in his pants, I won't object. I would just appreciate you waiting until _after_ we take care of the business end of things."

At this, Anders looked to her, several questions begging to be asked- but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she stalked into the back room she'd emerged from, apparently intent on some helpful task or another. Anders tilted his head back, eyes raised to the ceiling, and seemed to ask something of someone lingering beyond what he could see. Coming back to himself, he startled to notice that Lysandra was still there.

"So, why the Chantry? Isn't your friend in the Gallows?" She asked, relieving him the responsibility of addressing Evelyn's departure.

"I've arranged for him to meet me in the Chantry. But there's a good chance my message was intercepted, so I'd like to take precautions." He sighed. "That's where you come in; help us ensure our escape, and we'll be in your debt."

"Let's hope we _don't_ run into trouble, then," Bethany fretted, twisting her fingers around each other. "The last thing we need is _more_ templar attention."

Anders smiled, though it was incomplete and didn't touch his eyes. "If all goes according to plan, it will be as simple as walking in, meeting with my friend, and leaving with him."

"I'd work on having a better plan if things go south," Varric warned. "I've got a lot of pull, but explaining my involvement with not one, but _four_ apostates would require some fancy footwork."

"Oh, don't worry," Anders grinned faintly. "I've got plenty of tricks up my sleeve if things go wrong, and Evelyn is a cunning woman, good at thinking on her feet."

"Well! Going in blindly without much of a plan against dangerous odds?" Lysandra's grin took on a maniacal edge. "Sounds perfect! I can't wait to see how this all plays out!"

At this, Anders' smile softened, becoming far more sincere. "You know, you remind me of someone... perhaps with far more enthusiasm than she would ever show, but the attitude's the same..."

"Oh?" Lysandra leaned forward slightly, grinning even more broadly. "An old lover of yours?"

He sputtered, then laughed heartily. "Oh, Maker, no! No no no!" He smothered his laughter with the back of his hand. "Nothing like that! Maker, I couldn't even _imagine_...!"

Lysandra joined in his laughter, and while Varric smirked, Bethany showed far less amusement in the situation. "Sister, you were the one who said not to waste time down here. Perhaps we ought to be on our way?"

"You're right, Sunshine, though you're a spoilsport for reminding me _now_. There are cute men to woo!" Lysandra gestured to Anders, who straightened in shock. "I mean, he's even got the broody, serious air about him! You know I can't resist that!"

Bethany pinkened at her sister's frankness. "Then I suggest you woo him in a slightly more romantic atmosphere, and not _in front of your sister_."

"Or your business partner," Varric added.

"We're not partners yet, Tethras!" Lysandra cackled. "But fine, I'll restrain myself. For now."

"That would be wise," Anders agreed. "But thank you. I will see you tonight then."

"Indeed you will," Lysandra winked at him, before sauntering back out of his clinic again with such abruptness that her companions scrambled to catch up with her again. Though she enjoyed seeing the faint tinge of blush come to the mage's face when she turned up the heat on her flirting, Lysandra smiled to herself at the thought of pursuing the man. That other woman already clearly had her mark on him, whether either admitted it or not. No, Lysandra wasn't interested in taking the man to bed (or, well, okay, she was, but she knew better than to let her loins make the decision for her).

Goading the two of them out of their quiet admiration of one another, on the other hand... she giggled, much to the confusion of those trying to match pace with her.

"So, the rumors about your sister are true, then?" Varric muttered to Bethany, cursing the stupid long legs of these humans.

"I'm certain that the rumors don't even do her justice," Bethany replied.


	7. Chapter 7: Freeing Karl

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Seven: Freeing Karl_

When it came to the Chantry, no expense was spared in upkeep or appearance. The trees planted beside the monument outside the Chantry flourished, green and vivid against the cool grey stone that made up all of Hightown. Vines curled around the pillars, adding life where even the blood red banners featuring the Andrastian Sun couldn't influence, and the smell of incense floating down from the oppressively tall building filled the air; there'd been a fruitful evening service.

Watching Anders pacing back and forth, Evelyn sniffed in annoyance at the incense. Her early life had been filled with that blend of scents, burning constantly in the Chantry she'd been forced to stay in prior to joining her kind in Kinloch Hold. The smell reminded her of that dark time, listening to the prayers in the distance while left with nary a candle to light her moonless bedchambers. And of course, even the tower they'd corralled every mage in Ferelden had its own Chantry, so the incense had flooded the hallway back then, too.

The reminder of everything she'd deliberately left behind soured her already anxious disposition, and Anders' fretting wasn't improving her mood. She caught his arm, startling him from his thoughts. "Anders, please. If you keep that up, you'll draw attention to us! We really don't need to be any more conspicuous than we already are!"

He tensed, then eased into her touch on his arm, patting her hand lightly with an uncertain smile. "You're right. I apologize, I'm just..."

"Nervous?" She chuckled. "Reuniting with an old friend will do that. Especially given the inherent danger in what we've got planned. Plus, relying on a third party to help us with this..."

He frowned. "Do you think I should have asked her for aid in this? When so much can go wrong..."

There was a pause where Evelyn kept her gaze on the surrounding plaza, gathering wool. She sighed. "I've lived the last few years of my life completely free by trusting no one else. Never asking for help, nor accepting it when offered, because you never know when they've got a dagger in the hand they're holding behind their back while shaking hands with you. Trust is a luxury that I cannot afford. So my instinct is to tell you that involving this woman was a mistake, that we're only exposing ourselves to more danger."

He nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in conflict. Seeing this, Evelyn smiled and patted his arm reassuringly. "But then, I broke my own rule when it came to you. And I do not regret it. I have found a friend where I would have least expected it, and an ally against the very forces who would do me harm. And, well, it's strange..." she grinned in confusion, "But she gives me this weird feeling... like I _know_ her from somewhere. Something that resonates with me, and tells me we can trust her."

She met his gaze then, and stopped. He regarded her with such warmth, a rare soft expression where his guarded, contemplative look melted away, and infinite kindness shone through instead. His fingerpoint touch on her hand, which hadn't moved since they'd made contact, gently eased flat, and Evelyn was only vaguely aware of a voice in the back of her head telling her that _he didn't want that, don't believe his eyes, his touch_...

"I...know what you mean," he said at last, pulling back from her gaze. "I still have my doubts- it's hard not to when a woman like that dances into your life and promises to help- but you're right. I wouldn't have asked her if I hadn't gotten the impression she would help." He grinned. "Besides, she needs something from me, too, so it's not like she'll go running off on the deal just to break it."

"Oh, she needs something from you alright," Evelyn muttered, and let her linked arm with his slide loose, stepping away. "And _not_ just those maps."

He stared for a long moment, confused, before breaking into a wide grin. "And just _what_ could you be talking about?"

She rolled her eyes skyward. "I don't think she could've been more obvious than if she'd stripped you right then and there. But hey, I suppose that could be another deal you strike with her- a nicer bed to lie in in exchange for letting her have her way with you."

He scoffed at her frankness, his grin broadening. "I don't... Evelyn, are you _jealous_?"

She scowled at him, blue eyes sharpening. "No, I'm not _jealous_. There's nothing to be jealous of. I may be a bit put off at her advances towards you, but I'm not _jealous_."

"You do realize you're not convincing anyone with that?" He smirked; mirth felt good, crackling in his veins. And teasing Evelyn was rare enough; very little seemed to get her flustered. Of course, he didn't let himself consider why he enjoyed seeing her get flustered, turning pink at the edges of her face.

"I swear by Andraste's Pyre that if you don't knock that off, I'm setting fire to you!" She cried, and while there was no intent to follow through on such a threat, some genuine distress had leaked into her tone.

"Fine, fine," he put up both hands defensively. "I'll drop it."

Deliberately facing away from him, she nodded. Fantastic; now she had to fight down the burning in her face. And he wasn't even slightly perturbed by any of this! That got under her skin worse than anything- when she was the one flirting with him, he recoiled as though fleeing a threat. But when this Lysandra openly addressed her desire for him, he'd smiled. _Smiled!_ But she wasn't jealous, oh no.

He watched her while her back was turned, noting the pink in her ears with pleasure- against his better judgment. "Thank you, by the way. For being here with me, I mean."

She didn't face him. "You don't need to thank me for that. If this gives you some measure of peace, then I'll fight tooth and nail for it."

"Did you ever consider how remarkable that is?" He stroked the stubble on his jaw, smirking. "I can honestly say that I have _never_ met anyone like you, willing to risk so much for someone you barely know."

" 'Barely know', hmm?" Against the shadows of the surrounding city, she turned her face profile to him. "I suppose it hasn't been very long, has it? I forget that, sometimes." The edges of her lips curled upwards. "I feel like I've known you all my life."

"Which won't last much longer if the two of you keep chatting like old ladies!" A voice hissed from behind them. Jerking from their reverie, Anders gawped at the sight of Lysandra and her sister. Evelyn, on the other hand, scowled outright.

"Where did _you_ come from?" Anders asked, bewildered. Had he truly been so distracted by his conversation with Evelyn?

"My parents. And more recently, Lowtown," she replied, shifting weight to one hip contemptuously. "But if you'd actually been paying attention instead of making eyes at each other, you wouldn't be asking that question in the first place."

"We weren't-"

"Oh hush," Lysandra dismissed the protest with a fluttering wave of her hand. "That's unimportant. So what's the plan, here?"

"Nothing too complicated," Anders assured her. "I go in, speak with Karl, and we leave, escaping back to Darktown with him."

"Ugh, any plan that ends in _Darktown_ ought to be reconsidered," Lysandra grumbled, her nose wrinkling.

"Perhaps your involvement ought to be reconsidered." Evelyn glowered at Lysandra, arms crossing.

"Nuh-uh, I'm getting those maps, and you aren't stopping me." Lysandra winked, amused by the mage's glare. "But if we're doing this, we better get going soon. There are two guards on patrol headed this way in about five minutes. I've got Varric positioned to give us a warning if they get too close to our location, but if we, you know, _go inside_, he shouldn't have to."

"Right," Anders agreed. His hand went to the small of Evelyn's back, meaning to guide her towards the Chantry doors and away from the streets. Instead, she recoiled from his touch like a hot iron, and stiffly stalked forward of her own accord. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but as she cracked the door open just barely wide enough to let her slim frame through, he felt Bethany's hand on his arm. Glancing to her awkward, apologetic smile, he took her encouragement and followed the others into the Chantry.

He would have to ask Evelyn about the shadows that crossed her face when his fingers barely grazed her back another time.

-xxx-

The immensity of the great hall of the Chantry was almost boggling to behold, especially to Evelyn, who had rarely been inside a full Chantry since her escape from Kinloch Hold years ago. Back then, the 'Chantry' had been a walled-off room with a few altars, several pews, and shelves of religious texts. The statues there had been life-sized, blank and worn away with age, and little adorned the walls. Here, tapestries draped from a ceiling that seemed to reach to the very stars- no, wait, that was just how someone decided to paint the ceiling. The chamber needed the room, however, to fit the gigantic golden statue of Andraste, which towered ominously over all proceedings in Her presence.

Gazing up at the sheer size of the chamber, awed despite her broken faith, Evelyn's foot caught a patch of melted wax from the candles lining the entire room. She wobbled, which broke her from absorbing the enormity of the hall, but maintained her footing. After a moment of internally cursing whoever thought it was such a great idea to burn candles directly on the ground and leave a pile of wax everywhere you looked, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. After all, neither Anders nor the Hawke sisters seemed fazed by this Chantry; she didn't need to make herself feel the Odd Woman Out any more than she already did.

"He should be right up these stairs," Anders murmured, half to himself, after banking to the right. His pace had picked up considerably since entering the great hall, almost as though he were racing against some other force.

Indeed, almost as though summoned by Anders' urgency, a man appeared in the rest area at the top of the staircase, facing the desk before him with a contemplative posture. Upon sight of the figure, Anders straightened, his eyes widening in relief. A faint smile touched his features, and Evelyn couldn't shake the impression of a loved one reuniting with family. Lysandra and her sister began immediately searching the room for signs of templar presence, accustomed to the role from years of practice, and while Anders immediately strode towards the man in question, Evelyn could only follow a few paces behind, uncertain how much help she was actually bringing to the table. 'Moral Support' only carried so much weight, after all.

"Anders, I know you too well," the man intoned softly, sending goosebumps over Evelyn's skin. "I knew you would never give up."

"What's wrong?" Anders asked, worry tightening his expression. "Why are you talking like-"

The man, Karl, faced them then. His dark hair had greyed already, his beard neatly trimmed, the faint wrinkles indicating his age smoothed with apathy. His eyes were an icy blue that stared emptily before him, seeing all but caring nothing for what he saw. What jarred Evelyn the most, however, was the fresh, bright red mark of the Holy Sun symbol branded onto his forehead. At the same moment, a sharp gasp choked Anders.

"I was too rebellious. Like you. The templars knew I had to be... made an example of." He nodded his head by way of gesture.

Frozen, anguish rinsing the hope from his face, Anders shrank back in horror. When he could get anything past the lump in his throat, he choked out, "No!"

A tint of pity entered Karl's gaze, as though a parent trying to teach an unruly child. "How else will mages ever master themselves? You'll understand, Anders."

"Uh, guys?" Lysandra's voice cracked as she backed into the resting area, her hands on the hilts of her blades. "We got a problem!"

Karl continued, unabated by Lysandra's warning. "As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself."

Both mages twisted towards where Karl's gaze had gone just beyond them. Advancing from all angles, clad in the shining armor specially designed for their kind, were nearly a dozen templars- arms at the ready. Evelyn's eyes widened, and her hand went to the staff strapped to her back out of instinct. Anders, on the other hand, seemed to struggle to comprehend what he was seeing.

"This is the apostate," Karl addressed to the templars, gesturing at Anders.

Evelyn would later be able to ascribe words to the sensation of the air thinning around them. At first, she was certain it was the kick of fear gripping her lungs, but then a bright flash of light filled the room. Templars momentarily forgotten, she looked to the source of the light; Anders. Horrified, she saw blue light cracking through his very skin, his eyes burning and swirling with the same strange light. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head, and a black smoke rose around him.

"A...Anders...?" Evelyn whimpered.

The smoke erupted into blue flame, the cracks of light multiplying across skin, through his very clothing. Yanked to his feet again, he staggered as though unaccustomed to the feel of his own weight. He swayed to and fro, rage distorting his face as he snarled at the templars. When he spoke, a deeper voice rumbled out of his chest, an unnatural echo warping around his words to bellow, "_You will never take another mage as you took him!_"

Evelyn's grip on her staff slackened, the color completely drained from her face. This... What _was_ this? The fury of a mage consumed by grief was a trickling droplet compared to the surge of energy pouring out of Anders now. There was no force on Thedas that could explain what she felt emanating from him now. Then, with a terrified yelp, she dropped her staff and let it clatter to her feet.

"An _abomination_!" One of the templars cried, stunned by the display as much as Evelyn was.

"Are you _serious_!?" Lysandra shouted indignantly, fighting to keep herself between Bethany and the templars. "Of all the things we need right now, I wouldn't list _an abomination_ anywhere near the top!"

"Sister, there are _more pressing issues_ at the moment!" Bethany pleaded, her fingers already crackling with fire to unleash on the templars- who were already starting to recover from their shock, and now all the more determined to put these apostates down.

"Right, right," Lysandra agreed hastily, "Alright, so, set fire to the men in armor, and I'll kick them down the stairs. Sound like a plan?"

"Sure!" Without wasting a beat of time, Bethany let loose the fire she had been gathering in a straight blast over a line of templars. They screamed their disapproval of this decision.

One templar grabbed Evelyn from behind, pinning her arms together. Grunting in pain, Evelyn jumped backwards into the templar, knocking him off-balance just enough to get one good kick to his crotch. Just as he doubled over forward, releasing her arms, she spun around and brought her elbow down on the back of his neck with all her strength.

"Ungh!" The templar groaned as the world went black. But his choice in captive had not gone unnoticed.

"_FIENDS!_" Anders cried in rage, another surge of energy flowing from him. With speed no human should ever move at, he leapt across the room to the other templars advancing on Evelyn, his hands glowing as they threatened to tear apart the very air itself. "_YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER!_"

Evelyn tried to grip at his robes, but her fingers couldn't seem to wrap around the fabric. He sent one blast of concussive force at a group of three templars preparing to run him through, then rounded on the remaining templar near him, his hands going to the man's throat and clenching. _Hard_.

"Anders, stop! _Stop_!" Evelyn pleaded, finally grabbing his shoulders and pulling away- to no avail. Blood gurgled from the templar's mouth, and he fell limp. And even this was not enough to sate his anger; he ripped away from Evelyn after one of the ones he'd knocked away.

"Men, Retreat! _Retreat_ I sai-glugh!" The lieutenant in charge of this capture sputtered, his order dribbling out with the blood leaking from the dagger embedded in his throat. Lysandra yanked her blade free again, sneering down at him.

"A little too late to give _that_ order, doncha think, you stupid bastard?" She kicked his shoulder pauldron in frustration. "An _ambush_, you little fucker! You devious little bastards!"

As the last templar fell to Anders' magic, Evelyn finally got her arms around him from behind. With the physical contact bolstering her, she shouted piercingly, "_Anders! Stop! It's over!_"

He rounded on her then, his eyes staring straight through her, breathing heavily. She met his gaze unflinchingly, and slowly, the glow faded from his eyes, the cracks leaving his skin. He sagged in her arms, horror dawning where rage had once consumed.

"I- Anders, what did you do?" From where they'd left him, Karl spoke haltingly, warily. "It's like... you brought a piece of the Fade into this world." He shook his head, and he regarded Anders in awe. "I had already forgotten what that feels like."

"Karl, you..." Evelyn stammered blankly, "Aren't you Tranquil? H-how can you speak so... so _emotively_?"

"I thought once they stamped your forehead with that strange tattoo, you guys were completely cut off from the Fade. And, uh, feelings." Lysandra trotted over, stepping over the bodies of the templars.

"It's... impossible to describe," Karl shook his head, disturbed, before looking to Anders. "But you, Anders. It's like the Fade itself is inside you. Burning like a sun. I felt...oh, Maker, I _felt_...!"

Terror washed over Karl, who nearly folded in half as he gripped his head. Tears filled his eyes, and sobs wracked his body. Anders stood, started to move to his side, but stopped several feet away. "Please, kill me before I forget again! I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading!"

Anders shook his head, his voice trembling. "Karl, _no-_"

"Isn't there something we can do? Like, cure it for him?" Lysandra ventured.

"Can you cure a beheading!?" Anders snapped. "The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed- there is nothing left of them to fix!"

"Evidently, there is something missing in that theory," Evelyn pointed out softly. "Whatever it was you did just now, Anders...it gave him respite from being Tranquil."

Refusing to even glance at Evelyn, Anders stared morosely at his old friend. "But it's impossible to...bring them back..."

"I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet," Karl insisted, glancing between Anders and his friends.

"I could never imagine..." Tears stung at Evelyn's eyes as her voice hitched on her words. "Death would be preferable to being empty."

"I got here too late," Anders muttered to himself. "I'm sorry, Karl. I'm so sorry..."

"Now! It's _fading_!" Karl shouted, desperate. His head tipped forward, then raised, meeting Anders' gaze evenly. The tears that had flowed freely now dried on his face. "... Why do you look at me like that?"

Finally stepping closer to Karl, Anders regarded him with sorrow. Pressure in the palm of his hand- something cold, hard- awoke him from his agony. He looked to what Lysandra had given him- one of her knives. Looking to her in askance, he was shocked to see her gaze hardened, saddened by being witness to this. She nodded once, then turned to console her sister- whose hands clapped around her mouth in sadness.

"Goodbye."

The horrendous slice of blade against flesh echoed in the giant chamber, in the silence of the dead and the statues. Not even a gasp left Karl as the knife entered him. What little life had been left in the shell of the mage was finally severed, and he dropped, the strings of his puppeteers no longer holding him on his feet. He was free, just as he'd wished all these years.

Just not in a way either he or Anders had accounted for.

"We should leave before more templars come." This time, it was Anders' turn to speak in a monotone. He dared not allow his voice above the flat inflection, or he would start screaming. He saw nothing in front of him as he descended the stairs, only the brief flicker of relief on Karl's expression when the final cord of his life had been cut.

In time, he would drown the irony of his mission's 'success' in freeing Karl in blood.


	8. Chapter 8: Collapse

Goodness Spent  
_Chapter Eight: Collapse_

"So, when, _exactly,_ were you planning on telling us that you were an _abomination_?" The instant that the door to the clinic slammed shut behind Lysandra, she advanced on Anders with all her fury. "Was it supposed to be _after_ you endangered everyone's lives? Because if so, _bravo_, you have accomplished your goals! But I think it would've been nice to warn my sister to go play outside before the stupid abomination unleashed his demonic powers on everyone!"

The accusations struck home, wounding as surely as any dagger falling on him. Anders stopped in his tracks, his hand clutching at his chest in agony, before turning on Lysandra with only an ounce of defiance left flickering in his gaze. "I-I'm sorry, it was never something I meant to... to let out, like that."

Lysandra's stormy scowl intensified. "Oh, so you planned on _never_ telling us, just needlessly exposing me and my sister to whatever sick game you've got going on inside you!"

"_Please_, Hawke!" Using her body as a barrier between them, Evelyn stepped in front of Anders and met Lysandra's gaze calmly. "I understand that you're upset, but this is not the most conducive way to vent your frustrations-"

"_Upset_!?" Lysandra barked back at Evelyn, leaning over her menacingly. "No, little girl, I'm not _upset_. I'm about two inches from stabbing this bastard straight through the heart to protect us from an _abomination_ wreaking havoc on us all! _Upset_ doesn't begin to describe how I'm feeling, so don't you start with your little 'I understand but you must understand' nonsense!"

Evelyn's lower lip protruded at the condescension. "You have every right to be angry, Hawke, but I'm going to insist that you _back down_. Right now is not the time to be provoking someone who..." Her voice caught, and she glanced over her shoulder at a rapidly deflating Anders. "...Who's lost a lot, tonight."

"You're giving orders to _me_, short stuff?" Lysandra continued looming, though when Evelyn's calm gaze connected with hers again, she fell back some. "I tell you what- give me _one_ good reason I shouldn't gut him right here and now for putting my sister in that situation- especially with the templars getting involved!"

"One: Because I will stop you, and you will not like how I stop you." Evelyn's gaze hardened to ice. "Two: Because if you do, you won't get his maps and your precious expedition will never go through. Three: Because he isn't an abomination..." She looked back to him again. "...Are you."

His eyes widened at her question- no, it was a statement. She had no doubt in her mind when she claimed he was no abomination. For a moment, he couldn't find the words to reply. "I'm not sure it's so easily classifiable. But, you are correct... I am not an abomination. At least, not in the sense that we understand them."

"So then, what _are_ you?" Lysandra demanded, folding her arms over her chest. Having quietly observed the conversation so far, Bethany darted her attention between her sister and the two apostates. She'd been deeply alarmed by what she'd seen in Anders, too. Lysandra's fears had only echoed her own.

"I am..." He paused, mulling over his words. "I was only trying to help a friend. Back in Ferelden, there was a spirit who was trapped in this world through an accident of foul magic. He was stuck in the body of a dead man, and unable to return to the Fade. He was a very good friend to me, and the time came when he was forced to leave the body he possessed."

Bethany wrinkled her nose. "He was in a _dead body_? Isn't that more than a little creepy?"

Anders offered a halfhearted shrug. "It was his only tether, and even that was rotting away. Neither of us was sure what would happen when he no longer had a body to cling to. So I offered him a place to go, a willing host. We had no idea what would happen..."

Memories flashed in back of his vision, and he clenched his fists to reassert the present. "He does not only share my body. When I invited him in, we... _merged_. My friend, a spirit of Justice, he became part of me. Not even the most intelligent of scholars could tell you where he ends and I begin."

"A spirit of Justice?" Lysandra tilted her head skeptically. "_Not_ a demon, then?"

Anders glared at her, though he swallowed his ire quickly. "Not a demon. Though he has been touched, and changed, by an anger in me that I had not realized was so strong. He is no longer the same friend that I knew before... he is as you saw him."

Evelyn turned, sensing that Lysandra was no longer an immediate threat to Anders' wellbeing, and smiled up at him. "You tried to help your friend. I could never hold you accountable for an unknown outcome, especially when you made your choice out of a desire to do the right thing for a friend. The best we can do is try to learn from our mistakes and keep moving forward."

Anders regarded her with astonishment, color finally returning to his face. Still, his expression fell with sorrow. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But I know I've done him wrong, no matter how good my intentions. He wanted to help me- he knew what mages had suffered. That's why he agreed to this in the first place. But my anger..." His head dipped forward, his gaze dropping to the ground. "When I see templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about..."

His eyes flicked up to Evelyn again, though he didn't raise his head. "He comes out. And without any grasp of mercy, he has become a force of vengeance."

"Is there any way to... separate the two of you again?" Bethany asked thoughtfully, her fingers fidgeting with each other.

"I don't think so." Anders shook his head. "The only way a spirit has ever been separated from a living host is by its death."

"And we're not killing either Anders _or_ the friend he fought so hard to keep from, erm... _dying_, if that's the right word for it," Evelyn insisted. "So that's out."

Lysandra made a grimace of uncertainty. "So you've got this powerful spirit residing inside of you. Is he under your control? He looked like he completely overwhelmed you before. Can you bring him out at will?"

Pained, Anders glanced away again. "No, he... only comes out when I've lost all power over myself. It's a madness, a frenzy. I only find out after what I might have done."

Evelyn took both of his hands in hers, looking up at him, a doctrine of sympathy written in her expression. "That sounds terrifying. All this time, I had no idea what you were dealing with... I understand now. Everything."

He crumbled in the face of her words, speaking low and in a trembling voice. "I didn't think I could ever tell anyone about this... I was certain that if you knew, you would-" he cut himself off before his voice broke. He resumed once he had control again. "Thank you for not running away."

Lysandra tapped her foot impatiently, arching an eyebrow at the touching display. "I'm not running, either. Even if you turn into a giant scary glowing monster, I'm gonna help keep an eye on you- not just to keep my sister safe, either." She smirked. "I'd hate for something to happen to such a nice man."

He looked to her in shock, having almost forgotten her presence. He grinned, however, at her attempt to 'reassure' him. "As we agreed, my maps are yours. And... if you need help in your expedition, I'd be willing to offer my services."

"That's charming, but would that really be helpful? Trapped underground by a man possessed by a spirit?" Lysandra tilted her head.

"Well, I _am_ a Grey Warden, that might be useful to have along in the case of dealing with darkspawn, or the Deep Roads," he replied sulkily.

"True. And the eye-candy wouldn't hurt in the slightest," She agreed with a grin and a wink. "I'll keep your offer in mind, then."

He raised his arms in feigned aggravation. "Why are women only after _one thing_? I swear, you all look at me like I'm a piece of meat!"

Lysandra's grin turned deliciously crooked, and she advanced on him with a sway in her hip. Reaching out, she lifted his chin with her index finger, and inspected him jokingly. "If you don't want to be salivated over, honey, then don't garnish yourself so appetizingly."

He grinned, a spark of his humor reflecting in his gaze, but gently guided her hand away after a moment. "Funnily enough, if I stay down here long enough, I'm sure the smell alone would kill any 'appetite'."

If Lysandra had more to add on the subject, she was cut off by a grunt of disapproval from the suddenly red-faced Evelyn, who turned on her heel and retreated into the back hall of the clinic. Both the Hawkes and Anders watched after her, the former confused, the latter losing all the good humor in his expression.

"I guess she's hungry. You really should feed her more often, poor thing looks like she's _starving_." Lysandra winked. "But first, I'd really like those maps, if you don't mind. I've got a lot to do today. Unless you've got a secret stash of sovereigns I could, uh, _borrow_?"

He looked to her blankly, before sighing. "If I had even one sovereign to my name, do you think I'd be living down here?"

"Yes," she replied calmly, smiling. "Because you're just that sort of person."

He stared for a moment at her mood switch, then nodded faintly. "I suppose you're right."

"Maps, Darling."

He smirked bitterly. "Yes, yes, I'll get them now. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

As he turned to head towards the back to his room, she called after him, "Then stop twisting them!" He shook his head, and chuckled to himself. Dealing with this woman was going to be interesting, to say the least.

-xxx-

The cozy little closet that Evelyn had claimed as her room was a snug fit, indeed. With her cot pressed against the wall, she had enough room for a small table opposite that for personal affects, and a trinket box for her most prized possessions. Her cloak was draped over the foot of the cot, and she often folded the one change of clothes she had underneath the cot. While Anders had groused that she must feel so claustrophobic in such a tiny space, she was quietly content with it. At night, when she lay back and stared at the ceiling, she felt safe with the four walls around her. She wasn't exposed, out under the stars. There was even a part of her that likened it to what brief time she'd spent at Kinloch Hold; confining, but secure.

Even now, seated on the edge of her cot, pressing her palms over her eyes to keep her head together, she drew comfort from this little niche. It helped her regroup, gather her thoughts, refocus her so she could be strong for others. This was her place to let down her guard, to be weak for just a moment. And right now, she felt weak.

"What is _wrong_ with me?" She murmured into her lap, stooped the way she was. A sick feeling had burrowed into her chest; not nausea, but something toxic and poisoned. Something nasty had bitten into her heart, into her core, and she loathed the way it was making her act. How embarrassing, to walk away like that!

She straightened, letting her hands fall to her knees, and turned to fall back onto the cot with a weak groan. A stray curl of her hair fell over one eye, and lacking the willpower to brush it aside, she closed the eye instead. She had _no reason_ to be this upset over that woman flirting so openly with Anders. They'd already agreed not to pursue anything _like that_, and no matter how she felt about him, there was no claim she could make that wouldn't be completely unwarranted.

But that was what was so irritating. He'd cringed when she'd indicated any interest, but this other woman comes along, calls him meat, _touches him_, and he grins and laughs along, takes it in stride. What had Evelyn done to make him so uncomfortable with her? The question kept banging about inside her head, refusing to be brushed aside.

"Evelyn?" There was a soft knock at the entryway to the room. "May I come in?"

Closing both eyes now, Evelyn sighed. Just what she needed right now. She turned onto her side, and rose her voice to reply, "Go ahead."

There was a faint rustle as he moved into the room- well, sort of. There was only so much space to move about in there. "I don't mean to pry, but... are you alright?"

"Anders..." She sat up again, looking to him sadly. Already she regretted trying to feign indifference just then; worry had wrinkled his brow, stained his warm amber eyes with dark shadows. "I... no. Not really. But there's not much that can be done about that. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around everything that happened tonight."

He shrank at that. "I understand. Now that you know what I am, I.. imagine there's a lot to reconcile. For what it's worth, I regret not being honest with you from the start. I just... I knew it would be a bit much to take in."

"That's not it, Anders. At least, that's not what I have a problem with." She smiled faintly. "You are what you are, and you wouldn't be the Anders I know and... that I know, otherwise. While it is something I may need to adjust to, knowing what happened to you only reaffirms what I already knew about you; you are a kind person who wants the best for the people you care about."

A moment passed where he could only stare at her, his expression fighting to stay neutral. Then, he moved to sit beside her on the cot, the concern back in his eyes. "Then what is it?"

She turned her attention to her boots, unable to meet his gaze. The full truth of what was upsetting her could never come out. Instead, she went to what else had been on her mind. "You worked so hard to help your friend. Every moment since we got here, you thought of nothing but helping him, building plans around how to get him out of the Gallows, and out of Kirkwall. And he meant so much to you..."

He cringed at that, almost recoiling. She continued, "I had worried that the templars might catch wind of what was going on, but I hadn't thought they would go so far as to make him Tranquil. Didn't you say he had already been through his Harrowing?"

His fists clenched. "He _had_! How could they do that to him? They had no cause to make him Tranquil, except..." He trembled. "...Except to punish him, to punish _me_. What they did to him breaks Chantry law! H-how can they think they'll get away with this? Maker's Breath, they did it because of _me_, because I was coming to get him-"

"Anders, _no._" Evelyn put her hand on his shoulder, her fingers sinking into the soft feathers. "You can't blame yourself for what happened! You absolutely can't! If there's anyone who is responsible, it's those damned _templars_!" She sneered. "Those bastards took a Harrowed mage and made him tranquil because of the sick satisfaction it gave them to inflict that on someone that had no way of escaping them! They had so many options if they were so determined simply to catch an apostate, including letting a perfectly un-Tranquiled mage meet with him and still springing such an ambush!

"Instead, they chose to make him an absolute puppet, to demonstrate their power, to try and crush you. This wasn't solely about capture for them anymore. What they did was despicable and inhuman!"

He was shaking, not able to keep his grief in. He'd held himself together through the trip back to Darktown, managed to hide his despair around the Hawke sisters, but Evelyn had put her fingers directly into the heart of his pain. Tears rimmed his eyes, threatening to spill out, blurring his vision. "But if not for me... he might still be..."

"Imprisoned in the Gallows? Living in fear of monsters who clearly hold the very law they're meant to uphold in disdain? Knowing that he could be made Tranquil at any time, and having no hope of rescue?" Evelyn pressed, frowning. "You made them afraid, Anders. And... oh Maker, what they did was horrible. And if not for you, he might still be Tranquil, unable to even feel horror for what they ripped away from him."

The tears fell as his face tightened in misery. One sob wracked him, then another. He poured his anguish into each sob, completely overcome. This was it; he was going to fall apart, at long last. Losing Karl to the templars- Karl's blood on his hands-

Warmth encircled him, arms around his shoulders and slim body pressing against him from in front. _No_, he whimpered to himself, _don't do this. Don't show me sympathy. I can't accept it!_ Yet there she stayed, brushing her fingers through his hair, her arms locked around him firmly, refusing to let him collapse. His face pressed into her shoulder, her blouse absorbing his tears, and despite his shame he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

"It's alright," she soothed, speaking in that soft voice she had when speaking with patients. "Let it out. I'm right here."

She continued murmuring her reassurances, and he felt the knot around his heart ease, slowly. Before he could stop himself, his arms wrapped around her in return, a man set adrift in a stormy ocean clinging to the one hope of staying afloat. The tide of his grief could not be stemmed, but with this outpouring, he felt...lighter. The burden was being shared, by a woman whose strength astounded him. Especially now.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured to him, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Anders. I wish I could do more for you."

His grip on her tightened, and he let out a mix of laughter and a whimper. "Don't," he spoke against her shoulder, the sound muffled. "You... you have no idea..."

At this, she swept one hand to press against the back of his head, cradling him tenderly. "You think I've never lost someone I care for before? Oh, Maker, I've blamed myself for it too. I had to learn how to stop making everything my responsibility, as should you."

He shook his head, and withdrew enough to meet her gaze. "No, I meant..." He smiled, though it was tainted by grief. His tone softened to nearly a whisper as he continued, "I meant, you have no idea what you're already doing for me. Don't underestimate yourself; without you, I'd be going out of my mind right now."

She smiled as best she could, and sighed. "Maybe. But you deserve so much better than this. If I could make things right, could give you Karl, maybe even in my stead, I would-"

"No!" He exclaimed, twisting to his feet and gripping her shoulders. "Don't ever say that! Karl... he was a good friend, but I would not trade the two of you for anything!"

Dim candlelight flickered in her widening eyes at his vehement response. He was genuinely terrified at the prospect, his arms shaking as he held onto her. The sickness in her heart abated, undone at last, and she smiled. "No... I wouldn't want to leave you, either. I just... want you to be happy. You deserve that, at least."

His expression flared briefly in joy, before he smothered it in another embrace. "I may never be truly happy, Evelyn, not so long as there is such great injustice in this world, not so long as they can... can _do_ this to Karl, and to others. But if you're here with me, I might..."

He seemed unable to finish his sentence, struggling to find the words. She returned his embrace, this time resting her head against his chest, and chuckled. "Very well. You've got me, for whatever that's worth. And I will help you in any way that I can."

She couldn't see it now, but the worry drained from his expression then, smoothing to something like contentment. After a moment savoring the feel of such a kind embrace, he withdrew to smile down at her. "We still have something very important to do, first."

She tilted her head quizzically. "What's that?"

He ruffled the curls of her hair with a half grin. "We still need to look for your family, like we promised when this all started."

She pinkened, then chuckled nervously. "Oh, I wouldn't h-hold you to that, I mean..."

"It's what you came to Kirkwall for, isn't it?" Loathe as he was to pull away, he did so- he feared what he might do if he stayed near her right now. He retreated to the doorway, and smiled to her. "I'm a man of my word. I won't let you down just because my circumstances changed."

"We'll worry about that later, Anders," she assured him. "For now, take the time you need to recover from this. The hunt for my family, if they even exist here, can wait."

He nodded briefly, watching her a moment longer before disappearing from her doorway. She sank back to her cot, staring after his shadow as it slipped away. Then, she closed her eyes and rested her hand over her chest, letting every other sense fall away until she could feel the pulse running through her body..

To her surprise, tears slid from her closed eyes. In confusion, she opened them, only to feel more escaping down her face. Breathing in, it was choked by a weight in her chest, and she had to stifle a sob before Anders could hear it. _Why?_ Her palms went over her eyes, and she doubled forward. No, she didn't have to wonder why. After everything she'd witnessed that night, there was no mystery to her pain.

A man had been tortured, had his free will removed, and was used as a tool to inflict injury on an old friend of his. He'd been stripped of his humanity, his spirit, and given no alternatives but to live as a puppet or die. All because he'd been born with a gift that so many were taught to fear. All because he was a mage. Like her.

Like Anders.

Her grief wasn't really for Karl- she barely knew him, after all- but for all of her kind. Living with the threat of being killed or brainwashed, of being branded evil in the eyes of the public, of being forced into desperation and terror as a way of living until terror becomes a baseline emotion for their daily life. Worse, she knew all of this before; it was why she'd fled Kinloch Hold so many years ago. She'd never looked back, never regretted her decision to run, and rarely thought on the fate of those still ensnared by the Circle's endless torment.

Her hands clenched until she was pressing fists against her face, shaking with the force of her frustration. No consequences, no penalty to face for the mages they've driven into desperation, disregarding Chantry law with no fear of retribution.

Eyes sharp as daggers lifted from behind her fists, wet and reddened and cold. No longer. As her resolution set into place, a blade forged in the heat of vengeance and tempered by her tears, she heard the furious bellow of a soul in agony: _ You will never take another mage as you took him!_

She agreed.


End file.
